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Re: November

Subject: Re: November

>                                        NOVEMBER
> The eleventh month.  My garden , so carefully tended for another season,
> dozing now,ready for the up-comming long rest.  This sunny sunday, I took
> time to look at one of natures gardens, in Cooks Forest.  Here among the
> ancient trees, is a place of beauty, that puts no obligations on me as I
> enjoy
> It.  My path leads over a mountain stream, across a swinging bridge.  Then
> up through massed Rhododendron, up higher through boulder outcroppings.
> Here I walk and climb over and around rocks large and small, covered with
> moss and ferns.  The November sun is warm on my back and is unhampered by
> foliage on the trees.  Most of the leaves are under foot, scattering as I
> progress.  Here
> I can see down to a deep revene below.  The entire hillside is coverd by
> Rhodendron and above, towering Hemlock.  Indiscribable patterns form in
> sunshine enhanced by the Hemlock trunchs dissappearing into the Rhodendron
> below. I turn a bend, the forest, quiet until now, except for the sound of
> the shuffeling leaves, is alive with sound from just below. Two forest
> giants , a Hemlock and White pine Have fallen aganst one another.  They
> locked in a long struggle to see which will survive.  The light breeze in
> the tops, moves the competing limbs, which are emitting groans , squeals
> screams.  I spend a while on a boulder wittnesing this wonder.  My
> destination , is a grove of very old trees.  These old crowns, are
> by massave trunks, which tower up through the smaller trees.  Size,
> relitive.  Trees trunks I can barley reach reach across seem small judged
> aganst their still standing forefathers.  It is awsome to feel my place
> here.  How small my stature it beside these plants, that were here before
> twoWorld Wars, before our Civil War. Trees that were already grown during
> even the Revoulotionary War.  I can imagine Native Americans, hunting
> these same trees hundreds of years ago in a time now forgotton.  I spend
> long as I can sitting under these wonders, in the warm November sun.  Time
> now to leave evening comes early on the mountains.  This time spent will
> one to treasure all winter as I wait for my own puny attempt to shape
> , my garden , to awake again in spring.
> Ran Lydell

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