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July 16, 2010

I have a weird fascination for dead or “hibernating” trees.  It feels as though I’m drawn to them.  My eyes just seem to fall on them as if they’re calling out my name.  I don’t know what it is for sure – there’s just something intangible about it that pulls the strings of my attention.

Trees in this form project such vulnerable strength.  I know that’s as big of an oxymoron as “pretty ugly” but there isn’t any other way to describe it.  The structure of a tree is sturdy and formidable but there’s something about the state of being de-leafed that layers a shawl of vulnerability over the steady strength of a weathered tree.

But, on to the regret.  Back in my early 20’s there was an empty field with a lonesome tree near the apartments where I lived and of course the first time I really noticed it was in its winter hibernation and I took this picture:


I had good intentions of taking a picture of this tree at the height of every season to capture it’s sweet little buds in the spring, its full glory in summer and it’s complete majesty in the autumn. 

Well, like procrastination does so well, it dug its poisonous talons into me and I didn’t get a picture in the spring.  By the time summer came around, I was too distracted by the swimming pool to give it a passing thought.  Autumn came and the tree was truly beautiful and majestic standing there alone in the wide open field but I never seemed to have my camera when I was down that way.

Well, the poison of procrastination set in better than one could think and  before I knew what happened, years passed – and the tree… well…

In its stead, now stands an apartment building and all the memory of it lies in this lone winter picture.

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