Story of Rockies
I walked through a forest where towering evergreens stretched skyward and aspen groves dotted the land. Life appeared in every direction, a mosaic of species and stories waiting to be seen. Nature took its course here—trees fell, insects thrived, and weather left its mark. My eye was drawn to these stumps—so many, stretching as far as I could see. Weathered yet proud, they honored the wildlife around them. Their gnarled, splintered tops shared the tree’s fate. Only sometimes did the fallen trunk lie nearby, the tree’s crown resting at its feet.
Fleabane flowers glimmered along the forest floor, and I gathered them well before spotting the right stump. Uncertain whether or how they would connect, I drifted off-trail,
thinking I was walking toward a meadow in the distance. A calm stillness settled over me, bringing with it a deep sigh of relief. As I made my way back to my path, I spotted a stump. From this new angle, the tree held a different appearance. Animal tracks marked the hole at its base, and I pictured the crown buzzing with life. This was a home worth celebrating.
As I worked, a squirrel sat on a branch above the stump, its eyes fixed on me as it chirped with all his might. I couldn’t tell if it was offering encouragement or demanding I leave. I smiled, welcoming the sound—if this was his home, it deserved some drapes. Only when I finished and waved did the chirping stop. I hoped he liked his new digs.
