A THOUSAND FORESTS

On recent walks through the woods around my home, I’m noticing acorns of various shapes and sizes. White Oak, Red Oak, Water Oak, Blackjack Oak, Turkey Oak — deer find most of them quickly and leave only empty shells, like discarded beanie caps, behind.

They are a sure sign that autumn, my favorite season, is upon us. 

The cupule of the Sawtooth acorn reminds me of doll-sized dreadlocks. 

If I had children (of the easily entertained variety), I would glue them on our fingertips and make up stories of the Rastafarian tree dwarfs. Curly and Urly. “No problem, Mahn.”

I have a friend who knows me well. Well enough to know that I would appreciate a small, silver acorn to carry in my pocket. She is thoughtful enough to put it in a box, wrap it up, and present it to me for no reason other than kindness.

The gift has connection, no doubt, to a song which begins with this:

“I keep a single acorn in my pocket,
a bit of truth dressed up in honey-brown,
imagine what might happen if I drop it,
and it landed in the perfect piece of ground.”

The song was inspired by a speaker I heard long ago. I think that he was quoting someone — maybe Emerson? — who said that to hold an acorn was to hold a thousand forests in one’s hand. The song is about possibility and potential.

Cool mornings have been the norm around here this week. They are welcome after some very hot, dry weeks. I’ll raise a toast to flannel soon.

“Give it time to grow out of its cover,
Give it sun and rain and set it free,
The world one day might wake up to discover,
A forest where an acorn used to be.

These are days of small things,
But great big possibility,
These are days of small things,
The little seed becomes a tree,
These are days of small things,
Small until we understand,
That we hold a thousand forests
in our hands.”

~ allen