Late August again, and Summer just beginning to yield to Autumn’s quiet decay.
Almost a year ago, deep in the woods in an island valley, as we stood, joyful witnesses to Kelsey and Ryan’s wedding vows, a west coast gale raged in the treetops. A potent storm, it shut down the power, and docked the ferries, and closed the Malahat.
Back at home, our dear Old Man Willow, silent veteran of more than eighty summers beside the creek; haven of owls and nutstore of squirrels and confidant of children; bowed to the storm and laid himself down across the field.
Today I am a happy witness again, this time to the circle of decay, and renewal, and transformation. Out of the old man’s torn stump, new life riots, and a spunky little fellow proudly stands in his daddy’s footprint.

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