On our Sunday walk, I have been contemplating how alive a dead tree is, while Célestine discovers lichen and moss clinging to its boughs, asks about its peeling bark and marvels at spider’s webs catching the morning light. The ground is glistening with dew and we can see our breath. Branches are scattered beneath us, and the giant cherry tree lies on its side, sprawled. Yet he is enriching the earth, returning to her embrace, and crumbling gradually, as all things must decay. Alive with insects and home to different varieties of fungus, and birds, he lies silently in his grave. All is as it should be. The cycle is complete and a new one shall continue.
But what of all that we try to return to the earth? What is the fate of all that refuses to die? Our immortal offerings that fail to nourish, for they are simply not part of Nature’s supply.
In a moment spent ‘renewing awareness’, I am overwhelmed by the immensity of the issue – still seeking answers. Yet before me is an inquisitive two year old child, the next generation. And if she is already aware, perhaps she can carry the flambeau that will ensure our survival?