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  • Writer's pictureMj Pettengill

The Proverbial Pathway

Another Day

THE SINGING TREE IN THE FIELDS OF MARIGOLD MOON


At the break of day when I do not feel fruitful, I go into the woods to sing. I sit on the Prayer Rock to witness the immeasurable canvas sprawled before me, touched by the paintbrush of creation. The sun beckons to all upturned faces, living on the margins of winter, anticipating spring and the promise of rebirth. I revel in cosmic chaos—the pulsation of sound amplified by miracles orchestrated in the wind, bird, and brook songs (accompanied by the rattling of last season’s leaves that cling tightly to the branches in the Ash Grove, awaiting new growth). I look to where the anxious mountains melt away the last traces of snow where my friend, the hawk, circles above.

I wander down the proverbial pathway, lingering before the roses, exposed yet rooted in love, as they stand naked, desperate for the return of their aromatic blooms to cover their vulnerability. Intoxicated by their scent, reckless in their presence, and wildly imperfect, I am willing to bleed. Further down the pathway, the remnants of milkweeds – the host plant for Monarchs and others – sway tenderly in the wind releasing the last few silky white strands and transporting papery brown seeds. I watch them float indecisively to the opposite slope. Before it becomes a bit of a marsh, I head towards the spring pond that exists long enough for peepers to come out and sing and lay eggs for future prosperity. Predictably, the chorus halts as I approach. I catch a glimpse of an olive green frog – a possible prince during the essence of my becoming – before he disappears under the shelter of a faded bouquet of oak and maple leaves that float on the surface. A smile emerges from within as I spot at least a thousand eggs in various clumps knowing that soon it will be tadpole bliss. I then sit on a mossy stump beside the twin trunks of two immense trees which shelter life amongst gnarled, trailing roots. The trees embrace, knowing that a love like this is rare and only threatened by the woodsman’s ax. I think if I were a tree, I would want this, and if I were a small creature, I would live somewhere within. To bathe in the woods is to draw strength from Nature’s womb. The milk of Our Mother nourishes my creative soul. So another day ends, and another moon rises.


Mj-Generated © 2023 Daisyfields Press


The Woods, Mj Pettengill   (Mj-Generated)
The Woods, Mj Pettengill (Mj-Generated)

4 Comments


smartierana-8
smartierana-8
Apr 20, 2023

I think one of the most important aspect of a persons character is constancy, you share that with Mother Nature.

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Mj Pettengill
Mj Pettengill
Apr 20, 2023
Replying to

This is important insight. Thank you for sharing it with me. And sharing with Mother Nature has been what keeps me drawing a breath each day. 🙏🏼

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smartierana-8
smartierana-8
Apr 12, 2023

Your postings are those of someone who not only identifies what you see, flora and fauna etc, but their place in the whole picture .

You absorb the totality of the experience and have the poetic soul to express it.

you wrote " I think if I were a tree, I would want this, and if I were a small creature, I would live somewhere within."

Exactly so. Thanks for sharing.

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Mj Pettengill
Mj Pettengill
Apr 12, 2023
Replying to

Hello. I'm grateful that you comprehend the importance of inhabiting our place on this planet. Many tend to forget that we "are" nature, maintaining a separation. Of course, sitting on the observer's perch is vital, but it is beneficial to accept and embrace our oneness. Can you imagine what a world it would be if suddenly our species got it? Wow. Thank you.

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