…’till by turning, turning we come ’round right.
This venerable cedar stands at the base of Shakerag Hollow, on the edge of an overgrown old pasture that has now turned to woodland. The tree’s original apex is pointing directly to the right and is almost rotted away. Decades ago another tree must have fallen on the main stem and bent the trunk down. Side branches then took over, growing straight up from what was formerly the side of the tree. The grain of the wood is contorted and twisted like old rope. Gnarly.
Probably a nice bowl in there somewhere, but let’s leave for the birds. :^)
Yeah, I thought of you when I was down there — crazy twisted wood. “Turning” has many meanings.
Here in piedmont Virginia, I have a small Atlantic white cedar that has a similar kink, though I know what caused it — the Great Blizzard of Feb. 2010 (or possibly the one in Dec. ’09). It’s quite healthy(as long as I keep the deer away) and that irregularity will always remind me of that crazy winter. Perhaps it will develop a nice gnarl with age.
Those woody reminders of time’s passage are eloquent.
Not a simple turn, but a simple gift, indeed.