T is for Trees

is for Trees.

This morning I'm struck by the fact that the T looks like a tree, especially the way it hangs over the r above. I can imagine the r as a shade loving plant, or a nap-taker rocking in a hammock.

I'm struggling to write this post because I know it will be inadequate; there are too many things to say about trees, and not a day passes that I don't admire them no matter the season.

Even though I can't get enough shade, and the warm months are easier for me, I am learning the raw beauty of bare branches. And when those branches begin to warm in the spring air and sap runs to their tips, the color change is in motion before flowers have a chance to win my imagination - that is good for the eyes.

Some myths are easier than others for me to believe, and the idea that trees are alive is certainly one of them. And not just alive as in this oak is growing, but alive as in a life - a consciousness that is more than a reaction to light and earth and water.

Don't you remember that one tree? That one that left a hole in your life when it died and was cut down? We all have that tree in our lives, maybe you haven't yet - you will. Just like I said in my post about the earth, we are connected to trees too; somehow we were meant to be closer, bound to one another in mutual care and ability to praise our Maker. Alas...

I've come to appreciate the flowering tree in recent years, especially the tulip tree and the redbud. Even though they don't last all that long, they too offer early color in world just waking from winter.

Another myth I've read about concerns the redbud tree. The story says that the pink flowers of the redbud tree were actually white, that is until Judas hung himself on one. From that time forward the redbud blushes pink from the shame of the traitor's blood. I can't help but think of that myth every spring.

When I'm outside with the camera, it's a given that I'll return with pictures of branches, or leaves, or sunlight behind a tree. I can't help it.

The one to the left is an old acacia that looks dead every fall and winter - it's death looks complete with scars from bugs covering most of it. However, it blasts it's oval leaves every year with vigor. Our backyard would not be the same without it.

The picture I'll end with comes from, I think, a honeylocust; the sun was setting behind me, and the branches had been working on these green shoots for a couple days prior. I can't get enough.

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Read more about my theme this April in my intro to the A-Z Blogging Challenge. Or visit the home page here.