Talking to Nuts

Yesterday I walked down the hill to feed my ancient, horse, brooding like a storm cloud, when an acorn slammed into the ground in front of me, missing my head by inches. These Valley Oak nuts are big, and they don’t just drop. They shoot out like a stone from a slingshot.

I know Oak trees probably hurl their nuts with such force to propel their offspring towards a fortuitous landing—but I like to think this tree wanted my attention. I just read “The Overstory” by Richard Powell, (amazing) and it clearly affected me.

But what could an old oak have to say to an aging, cranky woman, morose over a pandemic, corrupt leaders, and hot, smoke-filled California skies, day after miserable day?

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