I love trees. I love full trees with thick canopies that send down flickering dappled light. I like tall weedy trees that sway in slight breezes and drape their thin tendrils around your rooftop like a gentle embrace. I love ancient trees that wear cicada skeletons and moss covered branches like merit badges announcing their longevity.
The kids laugh at me when I oooh and aaaah over a nice tree. They think it’s silly to get excited over something so mundane.
But there’s something romantic about a large tree…it’s withstood…it’s weathered storms…it’s watched people grow and love and die and still…it stands there like a majestic sentinel quietly noting the passage of time.
To lie on soft grass and listen to the rustle of soft leaves jostling about in a summer breeze, it’s the purest form of decadence, the ultimate laziness. I love trees.
It is not so much for its beauty
that the forest makes a claim upon men’s hearts,
as for that subtle something,
that quality of air
that emanation from old trees,
that so wonderfully changes and renews a weary spirit.
~Robert Louis Stevenson