Because if they did they would know th' secret to something that's been secret for so long that even its origins are secret- Because you must find the acorns- Because you must collect them after they fall to the ground, gather them together into a sack right there where they're found, take them home and dry them out- (you can't leave them outside, the squirrels will see to that) Because you must crack them open with calculated pounding- (get into a rhythm, you will like th' sound) Because you must wait for them to dry without letting the mold arrive- Because you must find a rock to grind them with- (we have a favorite, it lives in a drawer with th' woodenware) Because if you leave that rock outside, after pounding, a squirrel will gnaw and gnaw at it, and when he realizes he cannot eat it he will pee on it, and you will have to wash your pounding rock before you can use it again- Because while you are pounding the acorn into flour grubby little fingers will try to avail you of half your work and a tantalizing smell will assault all of your senses, bringing our ancestors back from th' past with molasses sweet remembrance- Because you must leach them this way or that, (it really does, yet doesn't matter which) No, I cannot tell you for how long, you will know it on your own- Because after you have done all this and you have realized that there is nothing better to do, and you remember th' birdsong, and th' breeze that shook th' leaves that are drying on th' trees, and the autumn light slanting down and th' dew in th' morning and th' sirens warning us all that we are closer than ever to th' fall, after you've heard th' crow's cawing and th' geese honking, and your legs are tired from sitting- After all this, then you still have to cook them- (Bake a pie, make some Nuppa) And then, you are not done yet, you have to eat them, with family, with friends, with thanksgiving for th' secret that now lives within you- Because you carry it around, and that is a responsibility you now have- Because that secret must be guarded with care- Because that secret must be kept, and yet it must be shared- Because that secret fell from trees, born on flowers nobody sees, grown from water and sun on leaves, and colors everything we see
Tales from th' Trails 