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Long has it stood on this hill. Many years before the house
was built it shared the view with other evergreens; towering
redwoods. Then some 50 years ago a dwelling was built as a
holiday home for its owners. Of all the trees that once
stood on this mound, it alone remained. And much has it
seen, before and since...
Long has it provided a home for the birds and squirrels; a
shelter for grazing deer and coyotes passing through. Once,
in the long ago, the native people erected their tents amid
the sequoias on this hill. They revered the trees as they
revere all the Maker's creation. Children explored in the
heights of them and young adults sat in their shade. The
redwoods were their connection to all things eternal,
spiritual, and powerful. At night campfires limned their
branches a golden green. Some nights the near-full moon
poked its belly down through an open seam in the night's sky
and shadows were cast all around, spilling down the hill.
This was a festive time for the people.
Then those people left and for decades men and horses and
sometimes herds of cattle passed through. And if they had
them the cowboys would attach a handful of lit candles on
the branches. Bow their heads and whisper prayers in trail
worn voices. Once in a while a cowboy would hold his hat in
his hand and sing a lilting tune to commemorate the event.
Long did it hear their simple words and listen to their
plain songs full of their hearts. For them the trees were
protection. They were a remembrance of family gatherings in
cities far distant. Of celebrations with trees across the
land. An activity that brought them all together during the
season, throughout the country where their loved ones sang
and celebrated from the parlours in their city homes, to the
log cabins lying in the valleys of mountain ranges miles and
miles away.
Children of all ages and backgrounds have embraced them,
spoke to them, and felt safe in their company. Many felt the
trees held the secrets to magic they never stopped searching
for.
~ ~ ~
Each in its turn passes: The Seasons. And nature's raiment
turns once green finery to golds and reds. Soon the snow
falls and covers the world around the redwood in quiet
white. The other trees--oaks and sycamores--having lost all
their leaves have no means to hold onto the snow, but the
evergreen with its boughs of thick green needles provides a
shelf of sorts for the snow. Therefore, it does not lose its
shape. It merely becomes larger in appearance. And some say
glorious to behold in its robe of white snow.
From where it stand it has a grand view of the house. As
Christmas nears the home undergoes holiday changes. The
pumpkins and cornstalks are brought in. The Thanksgiving
wreath is taken down from the front door.
Slowly, the house begins to sparkle. Tiny lights rim the
windows. Flashing, larger lights are draped from the eaves
of the roof. A red and green wreath with a large white bow
is hung from a nail on the front door. The family dog sports
a jacket of red, trimmed with green stitched holly. The
children are wrapped in scarves and knit hats with snowmen
and jolly Santas on them.
Soon, before December 25th, they bring a huge box, a long
electric cord, and a ladder from the storage shed and place
them nearby. From that box the family adorns the evergreen.
Decorative balls, family heirlooms. Plastic icicles. Opal
hued garland, twined through its limbs. Strings of small
white lights that blink off and on. Then from the top step
of the ladder the man stretches out and ties an angel to a
branch.
On December 24th other family members drive up the hill.
After dinner they all assemble 'round the tree in a circle,
clasp hands, and say a prayer. Following that they sing
several carols, a cappella. Their breath pluming out before
them with each note. The garland and lights and ornaments
aglitter in their gazes. They tread back to the house
through the snow. Wood smoke drifts up the chimney,
laughter, music, and conversation soon fill the home.
Before another storm rolls in, one person strides out of the
house and down hill. Rubbing her hands together briskly she
looks up at the tree. The twinkling white lights when viewed
from the base of the hill sparkle with the distant stars.
She grins and shakes her head in wonder.
After midnight the lights in the home are turned out, one by
one. But in the children's rooms there are four faces
pressed against the icy window panes. Looking skyward, they
are hoping to catch a sleigh and reindeer on the way. Behind
them a door is opened. More light spills in past the
silhouette of an adult. The children are hurried off to bed
and the room becomes dark.
The house has been dark awhile when the front door is opened
and an elderly couple step through. One of them flicks on a
flashlight and hand-in-hand the two slowly approach the tall
sequoia.
The woman reaches out and adjusts an ornament. The man walks
up behind her and wraps his arm around her shoulder. A tear
falls from the woman's face, but she is smiling. She looks
to her husband, loops her arm around his waist then they
both lower their heads and another prayer is spoken.
"Amen..." they both glance over at the house. It had once
been theirs, some fifty years ago. And the blessing they
just asked for is one they have repeated at the old tree
every year. They glance fondly at the tree then trod back.
Turning the flashlight off they enter the home, closing the
door quietly behind them.
And then, from a dark patch of sky, a pinpoint of light
appears. It lengthens vertically, spanning the canopy of
night. From the middle of this bright line a softer light
pulses. And two forms appear. Glowing as if candlelit they
fill the air above the home. Multi-hued wings with flowing
pastel colors beat slowly on their shoulders. Their elegant
arms outstretched they embrace the home then lift their
ethereal faces heavenward. And in the language of angels a
prayer is spoken.
Copyright 2003 by Kathy Anne Harris
***
I am an author and four of my books have been published.
They are available at Amazon.com, Borders.com, Xlibris.com,
and other online dealers. You can also order them from your
local bookstore. I also write poetry. I'm not really
restricted to any genre when writing which opens up a world
of creative subjects for me to write about. I enjoy the
freedom this gives me as I have a very vivid imagination and
I love to observe the world around me. It is a great stage
from which to draw inspiration. I am a social worker by day,
a writer by life. I live in CA.
Kathy Anne Harris
"Acquiring a dog may be the only opportunity a human ever
has to choose a relative."
- Mordecai Siegal
"Besides love and sympathy, animals exhibit other qualities
connected with the social instincts which in us would be
called moral."
- Charles Darwin
My website:
http://mistdrifter.tripod.com/ToShareWithYou.html
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May you be blessed today.
Bob Johnston
Editor / Publisher
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