For two weeks I cleared brush and tree saplings along a mile long private road, for two weeks I listened to what the land had to say. Watching the colors change in the Green Mountains as I walked and cut was healing. It was a much needed respite along my journey, albiet one that challenged me as its fee.

Snip, snap, cut, saw, haul, breathe, repeat. One by one by hundreds and hundreds I cleared out the understory lining the hilly drive. The seeming mindlessness of it opened up my senses to how they must have lived their short lives, struggling and twisting and spiraling themselves to reach towards the canopy. Each one had a tale, and each one contributed to me seeing my own journey through the sweat and sap. Their whispers had me observe and reflect, and shuffled thoughts grew lucid.

Towards the end of the fortnight, one morning I heard a tree speak to me through creaking and groaning. I looked around me and noticed the big dead tree waiting for me to reach its sappling friends in another hour or so. As I got closer, the tree groaned a few more times to remind me not to just pass by without a greeting. As I looked away I could feel the groan at the back of my neck, and knew that it had something to say. As I came close, I knew that it wanted help getting down, and spent a few minutes rocking down what would be by far the biggest tree that I felled.

After I brought it down and helped it through the embracing branches of fellow trees, I listened and looked at the tree that had uprooted as it descended. Right there, on the side of its soil-covered taproot, was the secret that the tree had wanted to share with me in return for assistance in getting it unearthed. The copper arrowhead's tip snapped off as I pulled it from the tap root. Shivers rocked me during my awe of the moment.

Thank you, Tree, thank you for telling me.