Nefertiti in the Woods

Late last winter the Gentlemen's Hiking Club came across a tree stump that presumably had been the meal of beavers. I was amazed at how much the stump resembled the Nefertiti sculpture, as seen from profile, and I started thinking those hungry beavers at one time must have studied ancient Egyptian art. I've been to sculpture gardens in the past, one in Buffalo, where storms kept all but a few dozen away from a grand opening. We all gathered under shelters and drank cases of wine. That was a drunken, delightful day, but as the Gentlemen's Hiking Club stood around this found sculpture of Nefertiti, discussing it the way a class in art appreciation might, we all felt time and the world suddenly expand, collapse, and everything was here and there, infinite and minute. Clouds were indeed ships, castles, the fist of god. Shadows were ancestors and dead friends. As we hiked away, up the rock path, toward the trail head, away from Nefertiti, we knew the trees would soon be green leafing and the dogwoods would be white and the redbuds would be red. The woods would be spring colors, and all around was different and the same.