One might think I’d spent much of my three weeks in the Colorado high country looking at trees, both living and dead. And that would be correct.
Poets have spent lives musing on trees, including Robert Frost:
Edward Weston, too, found deep muse in the arms of trees:
“Cypress trees, like peppers, do not repeat a family pattern, each one facing a different problem in battling wind and finding foothold…it breathes mysteries, and I know there must be fairies in the deep dark recesses…”
– From My Camera at Point Lobos
So too do I find romance, magic, and mystery wrapped into the swirling eddies of the nooks and crannies of trees, honored to march on in the company of poets, painters and photographers throughout the eons.