My calendar tells me that spring officially arrives today, which means that it (hopefully) won’t be long before this giant wakes from winter slumber to sheathe itself in fresh green foliage.
I drive past this tree regularly. The sight of it is so expected, so familiar, that I’ve come to think of it as “my” tree. In my mind, it has developed a bit of a personality. On wet, overcast days, I think it looks lonely and sad. On summer evenings, it glows in the golden light and I could swear it stands prouder, fuller, taller. Right now, it’s stiff and stubborn and cranky, and the cold has seeped into its branches, making them ache.
It’s funny how we project our own moods and attitudes onto the world around us.
I wonder how long my tree has been standing there – weathering the seasons, sleeping and waking, watching the landscape change and the people come and go. What stories could trees tell if they could speak (and if we knew how to listen)?
The other evening as I was driving by, the sun was low and the light warm, so I finally stopped the car and made a picture. This tree looms large in a field of grasses, but it’s hard to tell from this photo. Next time, I’ll try a wider angle or pay more attention to the sense of scale.
But I’ll wait ’til my tree has gotten dressed for the season (it thinks it looks better in green).