Ms. Felton language arts Ben Brazee
Period 4 September 24, 2008
The Bay Tree
The branches shake in the wind, and the strong scent of bay leaves fills my nose with the smell of the wild. The highway can be heard blurring in the distance, but I ignore it. I'm high up, maybe ten or fifteen feet, but I can lie down comfortably on the thick branch. It's a young tree, but mold still grows on it, and insects dwell on the rotting areas of the massive branches. From here I ca see the ground, covered in leaves below me, a dizzying miasma of oranges and brown. I can see the dry clearing through a hole in the branches, its sun heated rocks and dry grasses, the sharp incline on the hill, the butte an excellent bike jump, but only for the daredevils.
The floating branch is attached to a strong trunk, a pillar of wild growing from the depths of the earth. From here I can see all, see the valley of the forest, I see the rabbit's paths and the deer tracks. I can see the dog walkers blissfully unaware of my presence, as if I am just another branch on the tree they don't pay attention to. From this branch I am alone, but this is how I like it. From here I can hunt the deer of the forest, or stalk the iPod power runners, leaving only shadows for them to see. That's always really entertaining. From this branch I am the god of the forest, I am its king and I control the domain. This mossy branch that flutters in the wind, this mossy branch that has a couple of vines hanging from the swing I tried to make, from this branch that has a hole in the forest's wall of branches and leaves is my life's summary.
I know the whole forest from here. To my right is a tangle of scotch broom, impassable unless you know where to go. To my right is a steep and precarious slope, covered in loose dirt, but there's a winding path that moves up the hill to my hut. My hut lies to the south, and it's not very big. It's a simple structure made from felled scotch broom. I go there when I'm in the woods with friends, which keeps this branch special. I'm the only one who's ever been here. Near the base of the tree lies my spear, a well carved shaft of wood that I got from a dried up tree. The wood is unidentified quality, but this is my favorite and best one. I carved the spearhead with my Swiss army knife, something that I feel in my pocket while I rest in this tree. The spear has brought me through many adventures, and I can hardly imagine life without it. The spear is a necessary part of the bay tree. Without it not as secure, and I can't think about my quality craftsmanship on the spear. To the north lies a large flat area, which while good for some things, does not house many adventures. And that's what the branch is about, choosing may adventure and contemplating it.
The branch here is like my gateway to the woods. From here I can work on my hut or I can choose to hunt. The world is mine while on this branch in this tree. From my gateway to the world, I can sit and write or think. I can listen and prepare. I can hide and recover. I come here when I am confused or stressed, so I can relax and let the bay leaves remind me of the past. The branch there in the forest is my last resort, my sanctuary. But I hear leaves rustling, a deer is approaching, and I leave my sanctuary for what seems like an eternity.