Someone once told me that a forester they knew had once claimed to be able to identify over 70 different characteristics that indicate the quality of resonance within a tree.
I was heading up a trail, a logging road that has been turned into mincemeat by the Forest Service because, it seems, as I've been told, they no longer want to maintain those roads that lead into the depths of spaces where they once claimed wood, and do not want to have liability for those trails, those explorations, so they're returning them back as if they are able to return. Moving through trees crashed down, interlocking with brush, wood doing its own reclaiming and returning, sometimes branches, sometimes roots, and always as I would climb in and out, the flow of grains and textures, swirls, ingrown bark, growth-ring stripes, flakes, burl waves, streaks, pocks, pitch pockets, bird pecks, checks and splits, we explore wood as wood is there around us.
I stopped to rest and there between my rifle and a pile of bear scat was a piece of wood, where I wondered at solidity, intrigued with the potentials of interiority and and the whats and hows of exploring it even as I hope to explore my own sense of wonder of potentials. I wonder what is there within, as solidity, as flow, as resonance.
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