I love the shape, the twists, and turns, the nodules, every crack, and crevasse. Limbs reaching out for life. Their energy, the power, the movement they convey, and the way they are naturally big structures. Their changeableness giving a message both fresh and organic. Greenish hues to autumnal yellows and browns resonating with the changing seasons. Stoic, they stand proud and glorious. Light shimmering to awaken each leaf. Skeletons which defy winters call.
You simply cannot ignore them, they are a part of our everyday life, our existence. Timeless capsules, the older a tree gets the more beautiful it looks, from a mere sapling to a majestic wisened mount. A force of the earth and arbiter of the landscape. The character to me of an ancient oak tree is that of a large fortress, monumental in its sheer reach through both time and space. Conveying with it a warmth and happiness which of itself brings both enchantment and wonder, and to me escape. If trees could talk, what words would they tell us?