the wishing stump.

photo by kelleynichole on instagram

years ago when i lived in the woods of tennessee there was a towering pine tree that had to be cut down after a big storm.

when the tree-cutters came it didn’t take long. the tall slender beast at once was decapitated, truncated, reduced to a smooth, massive stump on the edge of the yard.

i was drawn to it often. i would stand on the stump and look out over the wild blackberry brambles, polka-dotted with Japanese beetles, their wings iridescent green and purple.

i would imagine that the tree, unaware of its wound, was still reaching ever downward into the earth with its roots, still pushing its powerful energy up into what was left of its trunk.

i closed my eyes, visualizing the tree's strength rising up into me through my feet.

sometimes i made wishes - but only when it was very important, for I was too superstitious to waste the wishing stump’s power on something trivial.

eventually, as stumps do, it began to break down. i suppose in time the tree realized it was no longer growing, and so it relinquished its upward-downward struggle, dissolving into rest.

i'm thankful i was able to commune with that tree for as long as i did. it's gone now, but it's still with me.

and i know one day i'll find another place to stand and wish and feel the earth's embrace.