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1922

Abstract

dark clouds gathering, a sudden thunderstorm that swallowed the sunlight and blew a current of cold air down the creek bed. We paddled over to the closest clear area on the bank and hauled the canoes to dry land behind us. There was a small white-sand beach along the river bank and a fence that ran up the hill away from the water. We decided it was a good idea to turn the aluminum canoes upside down and prop them against the top strand of barbed wire to create a lean-to shelter. Honestly, I can’t remember now why that sounded like a good idea.The four quickest boys squatted beneath the canoe shelter. Frank decided to hunker down and endure the summer shower in the open, while I hurried to sit at the base of the cherry tree and lean against it. Almost immediately, it happened. A subtle but ominous crackling noise caused the fine hairs on my arms to bristle. Then the world exploded. I was simultaneously blinded by a brilliant flash and deafened by a boom that rattled my ribs, a sound that transcended sound. Then, nothing until later when I woke.Still unable to feel or move the lower part of my body, I lay there gazing into the fissure at the base of the tree. The deepest part of it emitted a dark, red glow that seemed somehow warm and comforting. I was able to extend my arm slightly toward the gash in the tree to push my hand deep into that inexplicably inviting cavity. Then I closed my eyes to rest.“WILL YOU DIE?” asked an unseen source in a voice almost as loud as the thunder.Startled, I replied immediately, “No, no I think I’ll be alright in a minute or two.” Frank continued rocking and praying as if he hadn’t heard anything. I could see no one else who might have asked me that oddly blunt question.“That is good,” said the voice in my head, adjusting its volume to more nearly match my own. “We are happy w

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e were able to protect you from the skyfire.”“Protect me?” I asked, genuinely baffled. “I don’t feel very protected right now.”The disembodied voice said, “It could have been much worse.”Once again, I examined the gaping wound the tree had suffered when the lightning bolt traveled down its phloem and into the ground. For some reason, I wanted to ask the same question I had been asked.“Will you die?” I ventured.“A part will die, so that all may live,” said the voice.“Am I talking to…a tree?” I asked, absurdly.“No,” it said, “We are not the tree, we are the Arbor. The sum of all trees.”“Why did you save me from the…skyfire?” I asked“We are your protectors, your originators. We taught you and counseled you since the time your ancestors swung from our branches and sustained themselves with our fruit. You are like saplings to us. But in the end, you did not share our roots and could not learn our language.”“Are you God?” I askedThere was a long pause, during which I began to be aware again, of the birds’ songs, the emerging sunlight, and a strange tingling in my legs that, I hoped, was a good sign.Eventually, the Arbor answered my final question with one of its own.“What is God?” it queried.Slowly removing my hand from the heart of the tree, not certain whether profound or befuddled, my reply was, “I don’t know.”The Latin word “arbor” means, simply, “tree”. It is highly likely trees <a href="https://www.smithsonianmag.com/science-nature/the-whispering-trees-180968084/">communicate with each other through their root systems</a>, forming superorganisms. Perhaps, just one.Jim Dutton © 2021</article></body>

Skyfire and the Arbor

A short story

I woke slowly, my face pressed against cold mud, and my body, well, I didn’t know where it was. I couldn’t feel it or move it; I could only blink my eyelids and move my head slightly, side to side. From that vantage point, I could see four teenage boys, my friends, who lay crumpled on the wet ground like me, but their eyes were closed and they were completely still. One other boy, my buddy Frank, sat cross-legged several feet away from the others. Frank’s eyes were closed and he slowly rocked back and forth mumbling what sounded like a prayer. Tears and snot ran down his face and got washed away by the steady rain. I saw steam, or maybe it was smoke, rising from the blistered soles of his bare feet.

A litter of wood chips spread out on the ground in front of me, some small and some larger chunks, snow-white sapwood, and deep red heartwood. By turning my head, I could see a tall wild cherry tree towering above me. Its massive trunk was scarred by a deep gash that ran down its entire length and followed a large root several feet out from the tree. The dirt around the root had been blown away by some ruinous force.

I struggled to remember what had happened before that moment. We must have been about halfway through our planned six-hour canoe trip down Holmes Creek. I recalled dark clouds gathering, a sudden thunderstorm that swallowed the sunlight and blew a current of cold air down the creek bed. We paddled over to the closest clear area on the bank and hauled the canoes to dry land behind us. There was a small white-sand beach along the river bank and a fence that ran up the hill away from the water. We decided it was a good idea to turn the aluminum canoes upside down and prop them against the top strand of barbed wire to create a lean-to shelter. Honestly, I can’t remember now why that sounded like a good idea.

The four quickest boys squatted beneath the canoe shelter. Frank decided to hunker down and endure the summer shower in the open, while I hurried to sit at the base of the cherry tree and lean against it. Almost immediately, it happened. A subtle but ominous crackling noise caused the fine hairs on my arms to bristle. Then the world exploded. I was simultaneously blinded by a brilliant flash and deafened by a boom that rattled my ribs, a sound that transcended sound. Then, nothing until later when I woke.

Still unable to feel or move the lower part of my body, I lay there gazing into the fissure at the base of the tree. The deepest part of it emitted a dark, red glow that seemed somehow warm and comforting. I was able to extend my arm slightly toward the gash in the tree to push my hand deep into that inexplicably inviting cavity. Then I closed my eyes to rest.

“WILL YOU DIE?” asked an unseen source in a voice almost as loud as the thunder.

Startled, I replied immediately, “No, no I think I’ll be alright in a minute or two.” Frank continued rocking and praying as if he hadn’t heard anything. I could see no one else who might have asked me that oddly blunt question.

“That is good,” said the voice in my head, adjusting its volume to more nearly match my own. “We are happy we were able to protect you from the skyfire.”

“Protect me?” I asked, genuinely baffled. “I don’t feel very protected right now.”

The disembodied voice said, “It could have been much worse.”

Once again, I examined the gaping wound the tree had suffered when the lightning bolt traveled down its phloem and into the ground. For some reason, I wanted to ask the same question I had been asked.

“Will you die?” I ventured.

“A part will die, so that all may live,” said the voice.

“Am I talking to…a tree?” I asked, absurdly.

“No,” it said, “We are not the tree, we are the Arbor. The sum of all trees.”

“Why did you save me from the…skyfire?” I asked

“We are your protectors, your originators. We taught you and counseled you since the time your ancestors swung from our branches and sustained themselves with our fruit. You are like saplings to us. But in the end, you did not share our roots and could not learn our language.”

“Are you God?” I asked

There was a long pause, during which I began to be aware again, of the birds’ songs, the emerging sunlight, and a strange tingling in my legs that, I hoped, was a good sign.

Eventually, the Arbor answered my final question with one of its own.

“What is God?” it queried.

Slowly removing my hand from the heart of the tree, not certain whether profound or befuddled, my reply was, “I don’t know.”

The Latin word “arbor” means, simply, “tree”. It is highly likely trees communicate with each other through their root systems, forming superorganisms. Perhaps, just one.