Sun Twined Boles

The sun twined the morning and emboldened the red-yellow hue above the treed boles that time will soon have its way with. Some trees I imagine are good trees with good heartwood and my time spent amongst their brothers and sisters has proven that the only good that some trees inhabit is their good ability to conceal rotten heartwood. Time and its sapwood are in a strange way with life and sunrises and its time is also in a strange way with sapwood—all conceals some inner truth, some inner miracle. Some trees grow from the inside out and some to our dismay grow without an inside at all. Such is true with time. Its lush and wet and colorful exterior extends from a void that is itself defined as much by emptiness as anything else.

The sapwood’s presence demonstrates that voids are not voids but something else more entirely real. Such is true with time. All grows and wanes and twines the morning’s light with a forgetfulness that is really a transcendence beyond the greyed geology and hued canopies of our space rock that itself feels like home but itself also feels like the heartwood of our very real but concomitantly very invalid life. We live and not live and our living in either sense seems to be the very and potentially vacant core of life itself. Like trees. Vacant? No, lavishly ready for filling. Also like trees.

Life is song and death is just its echo. Life may also be the filling of space with song and its sunrises proves that darkness and its void is really just time spent away from its light and this time spent away is not a void from life but a void of light. It proves that shaded obscurities are not dimness at all but a moment suspended above the howled core of sleepiness. Wake up the sapwood screams atop this morning’s conifer covered cathedrals. Wake up life beckons atop this space rock. It is time to be full.

The void is never fully known until the tree is felled and the darkness is never fully met until the dawn explodes.