The Cavern In The Tree

 

Zinnia on our walk in the woods

 

I peer into the cavern of the pine whose center is softly rotting.  I go there in my mind.

A round room with earthy yellow walls and a rusty orange, wood-dust floor.  I know how it feels on the bottom of my bare feet.  I’m convinced this is where the idea for an orange shag carpet came from, before it was something to jeer at.

I look up but there is no roof, just darkness.

There are many places inside the small cave that I can’t see.  Places blocked by flat stalagmite’s of wood, harder than the rest, that haven’t crumbled yet.

I imagine what might be behind them.

A stairway leading up and down the outer core of the tree. It opens onto another space filled with acorns and hickory nuts or leads outside to branches where birds roost.  One wooden wall blocks  the wind and has a woodpecker hole high up for the smoke from a camp fire.

The whole cavern glows orange warm and welcoming.

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