Wednesday, December 13, 2017

This Tree






When we first moved to these woods this beech tree was half the size it is now. It stands watch near the path to the dock with long gray fingers spreading into the soil, resembling an elephant leg with slender toes.  This soldier fights for sun as it competes with several larger and older oak trees.  The beech hangs on to its bronze leaves far longer than the other trees and while it crackles like cellophane in the sharp fall winds, it hangs on tight to the leathery beauty well into winter.  The leaves are smooth and almost like sculptures or manmade works of art rather than living photosynthesis machines.

The gray, smooth bark is a favorite for people to carve initials proclaiming love for someone.  This permanently scars the tree, and I many times wonder if their love lasted a quarter of the life of the tree.  This tree is ours and is spared such mutilation.  There are better ways to sustain and prove love.


I am awed by the way it captures the autumn angle of the sun and turns a brilliant bronze.

8 comments:

Marie Smith said...

Gorgeous! And so poetically deacribed!

Red said...

Very interesting post using the tree as topic. If only trees could talk!

messymimi said...

It's beautiful, and i'm glad it is flourishing near you.

joeh said...

And they make wonderful firewood, but no reason to not wait on that.

Linda Reeder said...

It is a thing of beauty, indeed. You are honored to be its keeper.

ellen abbott said...

I believe trees are sentient. my neighbor just had a beautiful mature tallow tree in his front yard taken down. I find it painful to see a big tree cut down.

Mage said...

So am I...and the unexpected composition.

thelma said...

I think trees do talk as they meet the weather, dry rustling of leaves, slight creaks as the branches rub against each other. It is weird how the beech hangs on to its leaves all winter here in England.