crone in the hammock

i was going to start a new blog under the title of windflower. i was almost ready to create my first post when the computer crashed and all was lost. so i'm thinking now that i'll just stick to the vale.

my childhood playhouse was a clearing in the forest at the foot of a hill. there was a junkyard on the hill and i would collect old pots and pans to add to my abode. i found an iron stove burner that i placed on a stump and a cookie sheet that i somehow propped underneath with rocks. it would slide in and out like an oven rack. sometimes i would urinate on a particular tree that split near to the ground. i would somehow sit on the split and pee right into the trunk.

i had a dream once about this childhood idyl. i was an adult returning to it in autumn. there were crisp auburn leaves everywhere. the air was fresh and sharp as only it can be in fall. there was a warm feeling of serenity shadowed by chill. and then she spoke to me. an old wrinkled woman rustled from the leaves on a hammock and she spoke to me.

she said, "i will teach you about the flowers and the weeds, the trees and their seeds." she looked like death: pale, creased, bits of burnt leaf caught up in her thin hair and dusky rags. she said, "i will teach you the secrets of the plants."

i grew up in the allegheny mountains. and now i am moving to the foot of the blue ridge. this message seems particularly alive as i enter hill country again.