I used to work in a national park. I met a botanist there. His name was Bruce. Bruce the botanist. He looked like Farley Mowat, but all the botanists do. We’d get drunk at night and he’d tell me of his botanical adventures. I admit I didn’t really listen, a lot of it was in Latin. Demons speak Latin and I don’t listen to them either.
One night Bruce, the botanist, told me he loved all trees, but he loved sequoias the most for they were truth and beauty wrapped in bark to him. The sequoia is indeed a fine tree and large, but for Bruce it was more than that, he truly loved them. He said he found them sexy. He loved to rub their bark and inhale their evergreen goodness. He never said he actually stripped off all his clothes and ran naked and joyous through the giant sequoia forest, yelping in delight as their soft needles caressed his white botanical bum. He never said he broke down breathless afterwards and fell into a dreamless sleep in the bosom of mother sequoia, curled around her base like a long white bearded mushroom, gentle sunlight filtering down. He never went as far as to say he wished to become a sequoia himself in order to be able to copulate with them in a wholesome, meaningful and mutually fulfilling way.
He never said he did those things but I like to think he did. There’d be no point remembering him otherwise.
One night Bruce, the botanist, told me he loved all trees, but he loved sequoias the most for they were truth and beauty wrapped in bark to him. The sequoia is indeed a fine tree and large, but for Bruce it was more than that, he truly loved them. He said he found them sexy. He loved to rub their bark and inhale their evergreen goodness. He never said he actually stripped off all his clothes and ran naked and joyous through the giant sequoia forest, yelping in delight as their soft needles caressed his white botanical bum. He never said he broke down breathless afterwards and fell into a dreamless sleep in the bosom of mother sequoia, curled around her base like a long white bearded mushroom, gentle sunlight filtering down. He never went as far as to say he wished to become a sequoia himself in order to be able to copulate with them in a wholesome, meaningful and mutually fulfilling way.
He never said he did those things but I like to think he did. There’d be no point remembering him otherwise.
4 comments:
He might have said it in Latin when you weren't paying attention.
so he went from tree hugger to tree fucker...
I worked with a botanist once and he looked like that too.
I believe botanists are the hippies of science.
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