Hidden

We walked on a trail cut through the woods at the North Carolina Arboretum.  It was autumn and as we passed the asters and the coreopsis and the solidago, I identified them by name.

"You taught me to hate nature," my daughter said. After a moment she added, "But whenever my friends ask a question, I know the answer."

That was six years ago.  Now at every opportunity, she walks her dog on the trail through the woods at the rock quarry near her home. 

Sometimes the things we love are hidden from us.  Or maybe they are best left unidentified.

In late winter, I tapped the compost pile to mulch the earliest wildflowers, Virginia bluebells and trout lilies.  My shovel uncovered a tunnel running deeply through the pile.  I left it undisturbed until midsummer, when it seemed to be deserted.

It was a good home, well hidden among the brown leaves and pine straw, kept warm by the heat of the composting coffee grounds and banana peels, with a steady food source of worms and insects.  

The knots and nodes of tree roots are hidden underground, but they are the most important part of the organism.  In their subterranean home, nutrients of soil and rainwater begin their transformation into bark and leaves.

I wish that the birds would be silent and the squirrels would stand still, while we listened to the roots at work in their dark world.