In the middle of a rainy morning, I was at the muddy dead-end of a road, listening to a passionate young man who’s taken over the family farm, as he explained an argument he’s had with the road crew and plowing.
Over his shoulder, I stared at a line of tamaracks, their feathery branches ignited autumn gold.
What? he asked, seeing I wasn’t listening.
Tamaracks, I nodded.
He glanced over his shoulder for a moment, and then kept on with his explanation.
Let this be the silent word of the day: tamaracks, and their silent gold.
It should not be denied… that being footloose has always exhilarated us. It is associated in our minds with escape from history and oppression and law and irksome obligations, with absolute freedom…
― Wallace Stegner