Shadow of Itself

You’re only old once the phrase: “a tree older than me” actually means something. At thirty-eight, no one is impressed by the height or width of a trunk my age. Without rings to count, I’m only guessing, but this dark stream hollow has a few much older. They crowd like old friends by the banks of a brook undisturbed by loggers. If I survive a century, I’ll have photos and memories to recall what’s lasted long as I have. For those already old as my grandparents, I can only hope they’ve got another century in them. Evergreens go black in the most lovely way with heavy rain. Brown bark drenched in downpour sets a shadow of itself. I’m on a mossy rock slipping, trying not to get wet feet as springtime races restless all around me. A few threatening flurries remind me that winter doesn’t like my new love one bit.

May 3, 2026
Granville Centre, Nova Scotia

Year 19, Day 6748 of my daily journal.