The Tree

The old man's hands rested comfortably on the kitchen table. At 86, these hands had done a great deal of living. The age spots, which started appearing 40 years before and looked like tiny islands dotting the South Seas, have grown to continent size and portended the nearing end of life. Swollen now with arthritis and good food and the ancient scars from battles with car engines only added to their patina of life lived large. If only these hands could talk.

They would tell the tale of caressing and holding the old man's spouse. She died quietly in the night just over a year before. The hands missed her. They missed touching the silky smooth skin and luxurious hair. Holding her face between them. Lord she was so beautiful. Sixty five years of a shared life held many memories.

The hands would tell of the wonder of holding the tiny hands of the first born son newly out of the incubator in the hospital. The devastation of holding someone's pet rabbit that had escaped the cage but not the teeth of a dog or possibly a coyote and it went through the death throes prior to breathing its last breath. The thrill of feeling the wind fill the sails of the sailboat as it began the race to the Channel Islands off the coast of Santa Barbara CA. The weariness at the end of chaining, strapping and tarping a load in the wintry chill of St. Charles MO. So much life felt.

The old man finally stirred himself out of his reverie. He picked up his coffee cup and drained the dark coffee. He was so tired. His breathing labored. The time is near now for his departure from this life, a life that was not always kind. He stood up carefully, his hips and knees almost useless now with age, and pushed the chair away as he left the table for the last time. No one was there to help him and he wanted it that way. He headed out the back door of his small house onto the porch. No dog greeted him. No cat rushed to trip him. All was gone now. He was alone.

The trip across the yard and into the trees beyond would be the last hard scrabble work to do. It took him over an hour to get to the spot, the spot of his choosing, because of his slow and deliberate movements. The old man did not want to fall short of his goal. He brought neither food nor drink for this journey. No medicines to ease his pain. This would be the final journey of his long life.

The old man found the tree. He slowly lowered his old body down to the ground at the base of the tree and rested his back against the rough bark. His breathing was hard from the labor but it finally calmed down to a shallow repetition. He closed his eyes.

Sometime later, much later because the sunlight was weak in the trees, the old man noticed a presence. He opened his eyes. Before him was a large brown buck. Looked like he was sporting a 10 point antler. The deer began sniffing the old man at his feet and slowly worked the black nose up the body till it reached the bulbous nose of the old face. The eyelids popped wide open and he stepped back smartly as if the old man had hit him in the nose. The deer lowered his head to look the old man square in the face as if to insure of what he had just sniffed. The old man had no more strength left to move.

The muscular buck raised his head high, all the while keeping a wary eye on the old man. The buck stood there for some time. Then he quickly thrust an antler through the heart of the old man.

Bambi never forgot.