Wet and warming up this morning on the trail with big white and gray clouds moving out, a brilliant blue blue sky breaking through. It could be spring except the trees have lost their leaves. Great clumps of mistletoe grace their branches (in the order Santalates, genus Viscum). Birds eat the white berries and wipe their beaks on a branch leaving the seed to germinate. The Navaho called it "the basket on high". To the ancient druids, it was sacred. It was thought to be the Golden Bough of Aeneas. It is part of the Christmas celebration for kissing under.
My uncles used to shoot the mistletoe out of the trees during the holidays. A right and fitting use for guns.
They had guns for hunting and they had the old muskets found in the woods after either the Revolutionary or the Civil War. They used to tie them to a tree to shoot them as the kickback was so strong. They did not have assault rifles, like the ones used in mass killings in our country, most recently the 20 children and 6 adults who died in Newtown, CT.
"Our hearts are broken," said the president.
I realize the red and green balloons resting in the bushes along the trail have fallen from the sky after they were launched in a tribute to those lost in the tragedy. The funerals have begun.
Where are you Christmas?
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