November winds have undressed the hardwoods for the coming winter rest, leaving bare their histories for all to see.
The high, jagged branch mangled by fierce winds; The shredded bark torn by a rutting buck; The v-shaped trunk separated by a fallen branch landed upon its sapling twig; The deep crevice hollowed out by rain and insect.
Pricks, bruises and scars mar every tree. All have felt pain.
Glory shines throughout these woods. These trees have overcome, so they are beautiful. Each has in common a will to grow upward, to expand infinitely. Some lean, some bend. Some, having broken through the canopy, greet the sun. Some are stunted and live in the shadow of another.
Each is growing as it can where it is planted. Circumstances be damned.
And the once towering hardwood, now toppled to the forest floor, offers its dark fragrant rot as nourishment for the eager sapling in its coming seasons of nakedness and adornment.