One of the attractions I find living in a heavily wooded rural area (ignoring the stiflingly reactionary politics that goes with it) are the thousand shades of green that caress the landscape. Springtime is when that contrast becomes most noticeable. Every tree seems to ‘leaf out’ by a different shade, manifesting at different times, broadcasting their arrival at different volumes. It is incredibly difficult to capture the subtle hues with a camera. But nothing makes the forest explode like the flowering trees: Dogwood, Hawthorne, Redbud, Pear, Cherry. It’s interesting to me that generally they don’t clump in groves – one such tree will stand solitary in a stand of scrub oaks, maples and cedars, clean white huddled by a broad palate of greens.
It’s tempting to draw an analogy – daring to be different in a world that seems to demand conformity. A forest that was once clear cut, then allowed to grow back in natural chaos, no dominate force, no overseer, and at least one living by different rules. Tempting, and I’ve clearly floated it, but the forest seems apart from any greater world it may be compared against. An intellectual analogy that feels muffled by a cocoon of leaf and bloom. All simply ‘is’ – there is no enforcement in effect, no demands being imposed. A gentle breeze ruffles the branches.
All my life I have had to learn to do things differently. To see the world differently.