An Ode to the Oak

a short Saturday story

How many creatures do you feed? Who comes in the night to feast upon your fruit? Who digs beneath your roots? Roosts or scurries within the cover of your green? How many creatures depend on your existence, Oak?

She dropped her acorns after the first frost, a glut of calories stored from summer sun, minerals and medicine she pulled from the earth and packed into kernels of nourishment, each with the germ of an oak and carrying the memory of an ancient land of forest and fern. So many sent bold new shoots searching for the cool, moist nourishment of earth, and so many were eaten or cached by creatures feasting and fattening for the hungry months coming. Yet more were scattered by jays on the heath where the brave ones will sprout and unfurl under the cover of the heather, to huddle and wait until the warmth of spring will draw them up into the light.