For Every Mighty Oak...

There was once an acorn that held its ground. 

It's autumn, and every jacket, vest, sweater and pair of trousers in my closet has acorns in its pockets, seasonal offerings from the magnificent oaks of the eastern Ontario Highlands, from red oaks and white oaks and burr oaks. There are other species of oak in the province of course, but these are the oaks of my native place.

Towering mother oak trees are magnificent beings, and after many years of rambling through their leafy cathedrals, they have become sisters and old friends. On sunny September days, I find a comfortable seat (or pew) among my tree sisters, and we have some of the most comforting, thoughtful and enlightening conversations ever.

Pockets without acorns rattling around in their depths enshrine other offerings, pine and spruce cones, black walnuts, butternuts, beech nuts, bitternut and shagbark hickory nuts. I can never resist gathering acorns, seeds, cones and nuts when I am in the woods, adore their shapes, their colors, their textures, their fragrance, the ambience of their fruiting. This is the season of entelechy, of once and future trees. 

Turning my pockets inside out this week before chucking everything into the washing machine, I realized that there has been a whole forest riding around with me for days, and it made me grin from ear to ear. No need to pine for my tree sisters when I am away from the woods - they are right here with me.