Imagine

The Cabin 

My brother and I used to play with our trucks in three feet of snow. The land was open and there was not another house for acres. There were meadows and trees. Life was simple then. We would go to the far meadow and pack down the snow making roads for our strong metal Tonka tractors and dump trucks. We would play in portable pools in the summer and climb trees. There used to be tree frogs before the climate began to change. They are long gone now.  

Winter has passed, the snow has melted, and the rain has stopped. The wind blows through the tops of the pines, firs, and cedars. The sound is like a roaring fire or rushing water over rocks and cliffs. It is loudest in the afternoons. The spring nights are cold in the cabin.  

Wool blankets layered on the bed and hot tea are soothing and give comfort. The wood knots in the wooden beams remind me of my grandparents, father, and brother. The bedding, curtains, and pictures each have a story. In the picture of San Francisco, a watercolor of downtown, my mom points out the building that was a restaurant she went to with her parents. My sister is a master chef, and the kitchen cupboards are full of spices. We used to stop at the fruit stand that is halfway on the drive to the mountains. We would prepare and eat fresh vegetables and fruit locally grown. The cabin is full of memories. There is love.  

The rising sun brings warmth, and a light breeze blows over the tops of the one-hundred foot tall trees. The pines are close to two-hundred feet tall and gently sway as light fills the sky. A gray squirrel leaps from a cedar tree to a madrone tree. It is chirping and leaping. The blue jays are squawking back and forth with the squirrels in an antiphonal chorus.

Looking up I see the bright outline of the sun, from behind a two-hundred foot pine tree’s tall trunk as it sways in the wind. The wind is quiet now. The day is warming up and people are beginning to make noise.  It is springtime and the smell of cedar is fresh. 

Sunlight filters through the feather like leaves of fir and cedar trees. It is pleasant, the aroma is divine, and the air is clean, cool, and fresh. The oldest and tallest trees still stand. The ones planted so many years ago have set seeds all around, and the cedars continue to grow.

Seedlings of pine and cedar are popping up, one and a half to two inches tall, all the way along the driveway to the front porch. There is joy to be found in the new life.