“He’d grown unused to woods like this.

He’d become accustomed to the Northwest, evergreen and shaded dark. Here he was surrounded by soft leaves, not needles; leaves that carried their deaths secretly inside them, that already heard the whispers of Autumn. Roots and branches that knew things.”
~ Michael Montoure, Slices

i wonder what it is.

countless hours and days spent in the woods streamside all over the globe and i’ve never seen a tree like this. how little i know; i need to get out more often…


i’ve often been told that i like to think of dumb things but you know, thoughts that pop up are thoughts that pop up and while they can be pushed away sometimes (often) its fun to just let them run through and see what comes out if there’s anything to come out. one of those that leads nowhere is right there on that first tree trunk:

assuming its the name and not an acronym, who was she and what did she do to deserve this ?
did she like to fish the little mountain trout pond i like so much that’s just off-camera to the right ?
did she carve that herself or was her admirer/suitor a dwarf or of average height or even a giant that got on all fours to write those four letters ?
has she ever come back to reflect on whatever happened here years ago ?
might the roots be her grave and this lovely ash her tomb ?

i’ve no idea and don’t really want to know more but even if finding carvings on trees usually pisses me off, i’m grateful. grateful in the sense that those four little capitalized letters singled out this particular tree from the billions that surround it, made me stop and think, pull out the camera and, and, and… oh i don’t know, this is all pretty dumb but at least i like the pic and hope you will too. ANNA or no ANNAs, it’s a special place.

ANNA m.fauvet-TLC 8-5-16