Its been over a year since he pulled the giant stump from the river.
The muddy water preserved the old tree, much better than the air.
I thought the goal at first was preserving the wood for a re.imagined table.
If it dried too quickly it would crack, if it did not dry it would rot… choices.
I let it weather till the skin became like stone,
now to stop it before the wither rots its bones.
After floating in currents of ageless purgatory.. hiding its beauty in the mud.
It stands now embracing time and all her terror.
The weakness cauterized, no more afraid.
We did not stop time, we leaned into the discomfort till we rode it like the currents we used to know.
At the center of it all is a fire… it sears the rot and chokes the damp.
Consumed eventually, but not today.