I need to look up the details of how a tree’s life support system functions. I guess I’m more artist than scientist, but I do marvel at the mechanisms by which all living things sustain themselves – with the help of a universal energy source.
This was a wondrous day, considering it’s November. Getting chilly now, as the sun is setting.
But the daytime temp hovered around seventy. Not a breeze stirring. The tree branches, most lacking leaves, are starkly clear against the soft pink and lavender shade of the eastern sky.
Yes, I do mean eastern. Tonight the sky above the setting sun is nearly white. Not sure how that happened. Maybe it’s the time of year. It’s so often cloudy in November, and we so seldom focus on mid-autumn sunsets. They come so quickly now.
I try not to dread the shortening hours of daylight, but can’t help it. The chance of snowflakes, too, is troubling. But there is hope on the horizon for our human interactions. The election drama is over (we hope). Perhaps this day will usher in a time when we’ll come together to conquer the pandemic and all the unfairness suffered by so many.
This unseasonably fair and windless November day could be a hopeful portent for a more peaceful future.
When seated in the country cemetery I described in an April post, small strange clouds floated above, like spirits visiting from another realm.
A crazy concept you say? Perhaps, but it was just one of those moments–like people say about a hilarious experience that falls flat with only mere words to describe it – you simply “had to be there” to believe it.
Each season holds its special experiences. Spring and fall seem the most spiritual to me.
October is another month when I begin to feel a closer presence of those who have passed on. But in a positive way. Nothing to do with skeletons and scary seances. The feeling comes to me as I see trees at dusk silhouetted in the sunset, feel the heartbeat of the earth, sense the imprint of all who have walked upon it.
I impulsively snapped this photo of a subject some would consider odd. But I loved the play of light and shadow on this window, the blue and green wine bottles on the sill, shaded by the reflections of breeze-swayed trees.
I’ve always loved moss, since the days when I played under the majestic maple trees in front of our huge white farmhouse.
I built fairy abodes and residences for my Barbie dolls amid the crevices at the bases of the massive trunks. The apartments for these creatures formed by myth or Mattel, came with plush wall to wall carpeting of beautiful green moss.
Not a fan of shag rugs, into which crumbs pass, never to be seen again, though we know they are there, or really carpeting of any variety, I might change my mind if I could bring moss inside.
I hope this walnut, accompanied by golden leaf doesn’t mean we will have a full crop of nuts to pick up this fall. Maybe there will be less full size ones later if they are falling when small and barely noticeable. We can only hope—though there were few if any nuts the past two years, so I suppose we are due.
Country legend says these trees produce a large crop every other year. From memory of a lifetime living with them, I think that adage is most often true, but I believe there are exceptions.
Readers familiar with walnut trees are welcome to share thoughts.
The muggy June 10, 2020 day turned into a scary evening for travelers dodging branches and homeowners worried about wind damage to buildings and trees, and power outages.
Seldom seen mammatocumulus clouds followed the thunderstorm, as a strange yellow-green and then pink glow bathed the landscape as if a color filter had crossed the sun’s face.
I haven’t heard of any tornadoes but the gust front held tremendous power. Perhaps it was a downburst?
Following are a couple more of the many photos I couldn’t resist snapping to record the rare skyscapes of the evening.
I’m alternately fearful or fascinated by storms. Trees, which I love, suffered significant damage. I had to dodge limbs as I drove home, and many people are still without power 24 hours later.
I was a bit nervous as I took these pictures, as another bank of clouds threatened from the horizon, but I was so in awe of this sight I only see every few years, that I remained outside. Thankfully the cloud bank didn’t turn out to be another set of thunderclouds.
The cooler air the storm left behind made sleeping much more comfortable.
Springtime seems to finally be coming to the Midwest. This lovely seasonal view of a normally mundane parking lot seemed so unique I wanted to share. A momentary distraction from the recent worries we all face.
Discovered it in a search prompted by a co-worker’s reminiscences of her childhood tree which she still puts together every few years. Not every year, as it’s getting a bit fragile, as we all do as we age. She hopes it will last through her lifetime. She’s not certain her children would even want to keep it and the other traditional decorations she cherishes, in spite of their dilapidated state.
I have a photo of my first Christmas, held in my mother’s arms. We had an aluminum tabletop tree then. I think by the next year, we had the green one I helped her assemble for many years after.
I’ve always wanted an aluminum tree, in silver or blue . . . a local drug/variety shop features a row of them this year, in a variety of colors – less than a foot tall . . . perhaps I’ll indulge myself.
Do you have an aluminum tree, or did you as a child?