so speak to me...
"Trees are fortresses of memory. Their rings, old outer layers of bark ensnared by the next year’s growth, mark time almost perfectly.
In my dream, there are giant ponderosa pines, hollowed out, connected by tunnels plastered floor and ceiling alike with pictures of all our ancestors, newspaper clippings of their triumphs and failures, and withered tokens of affection. A hand tinted baby picture of my grandmother’s mother’s father. A kerchief, faded blue embroidery in one corner stating “P.W.H.” The trees pulse with life. Through the thin walls of paper, in places we can see the squirrels fighting over giant pinecones, or, towards the top in some trees, porcupines eating through branches."
In my dream, there are giant ponderosa pines, hollowed out, connected by tunnels plastered floor and ceiling alike with pictures of all our ancestors, newspaper clippings of their triumphs and failures, and withered tokens of affection. A hand tinted baby picture of my grandmother’s mother’s father. A kerchief, faded blue embroidery in one corner stating “P.W.H.” The trees pulse with life. Through the thin walls of paper, in places we can see the squirrels fighting over giant pinecones, or, towards the top in some trees, porcupines eating through branches."