Hiking up the east flanks of Rough Butt Bald you come to a place where the red spruce have grown tall apparently at the expense of the old oak trees, many, very many of which have died and are dying. But they leave behind such beautiful wreckage.This old hollowed out tree is still standing, at least 15 feet of it, though it leans against a red spruce which grew up robust and tall 10 feet away. There's a long gaping crack not big enough for a head but for a hand holding a camera to get through. I wouldn't have this picture otherwise.
When I try to figure out the age of things (this oak was surely over a hundred years old when it began to die--dying took years--slowly being hollowed out by bugs and birds took many more) and when the numbers begin to add up, I feel an accumulating respect. I want to say, God bless you, old fellow.
I'm glad my hand fit through the crack so I could see the lovely symmetry the years, the elements, the bugs and the fungi and the old oak itself have come to. It all reminded of a Leonard Cohen lyric--Ring the bells that still can ring. Forget your perfect offering. There's a crack in everything. That's how the light gets in.
