Trees

Sometimes I wonder if anyone understands my reference to trees (or my infatuation with them, rather).I like trees.

I love the shape of them. It's poetic the way a tree starts from one source and divides into two, then four, then more, continuously branching out into the sky- dividing and multiplying it's effort to shade.

I love the grandeur of the really tall trees, towering over our heads with a sentinel stance, way above reality here on Earth. I would love to see those really tall trees in California- Red Woods and Sequoias. My dad visited and showed me pictures of a forrest of trees so tall, you could barely look upon the tops of them.

I love the way a gnarly old tree seems wise- the picture at the top is of an olive tree in the Garden of Gethsemane. It's definitely old, perhaps 3,000 years old. It may have been the very tree that Jesus wept beside, the night he was betrayed.

I've even found inspiration in young saplings, the way they're often tied to the ground, too unstable to be on their own.

I love trees. They're splendid creations, much like ourselves.