While Tina is off skiing in the frigid wilderness, I thought I’d indulge in some personal… well, indulgence. Or maybe I had better classify it as a True Confession. You see, I have fallen in love.
With a tree.
On the first of the year, we moved house, from the desert to the mountains, and the view from my front door went from this:
To this:
It’s beautiful and I love it! I can now look out my front window and see a mountain instead of stucco! I see horses romping in the fields instead of roving bands of hooligans traipsing up the street to the Walmart. Well, calling them hooligans might be a little strong, though they were certainly pesky! But enough of that. As much as I love the mountain and the horses out front, it’s the tree out back that pierces my soul.
Here it is, about a week after we moved in. Isn’t it lovely, in an ancient, venerable sort of way? It’s old, and craggy, and full of character and secrets. But wait, that’s not all.
Here it is the morning after a freezing fog, all dressed up in a sparkling coat. I wish my camera could have captured the falling shower of ice crystals once the sun peeked over the hill. The sight and sounds were breathtaking.
Here it is in the cloudy dusk. (If you think you’re bored now, just wait til I have grandchildren.)
In the fog as a storm rolls in. (Honestly, I can’t stop taking pictures of this tree.)
And the next morning, after the storm arrived.
There you have it. My latest crush. I just thought I’d share.