in the nearby woodlot are all sorts of trees, almost all deciduous. some of the older trees have developed really interesting shapes and quirky features that distinguish them from the rest of the woodlot. i love being in the woodlot alone. the plants and trees have a feeling about them.
here's one that has developed something of a little cup where i've seen squirrels and chipmunks come for a drink of the rainwater that gathers there. i expect that there used to be a branch growing out of this at one time and that somehow it broke off leaving this natural depression.
what's extra cool is that when you flip the image you see something of this tree-man's face!
i can't clearly articulate my love of trees. i appreciate them in all seasons . . .
for all sorts of reasons . . .
robert frost has a really lovely something to say about
a person's relationship with trees in his poem entitled "tree at my window". . .
tree at my window, window tree,
my sash is lowered when night comes on;
but let there never be curtain drawn
between you and me.
vague dream-head lifted out of the ground,
and thing next most diffuse to cloud,
not all your light tongues talking aloud
could be profound.
but tree, i have seen you taken and tossed,
and if you have seen me when i slept,
you have seen me when i was taken and swept
and all but lost.
that day she put our heads together,
fate had her imagination about her,
your head so much concerned with outer,
mine with inner, weather.
