Trees Are Not Boring

Today I made some time.

Time to go into the woods alone.

Well...Lilypad came with me.

I can cover more ground by myself.

That's only true in the woods.

There was a mandatory inspection before my departure.

The chickens envied my feet.

The forest looks dead in the winter.

Only upon first glance.

There is great power here.

Slumbering.

Trees are beings like any other.

They live.  They breathe.

They eat.  They sleep.

Trees are beings like no other.

Stoic and wise.

Brave and patient.

They suffer like us.

From disease.

From tragedy.

They never give up.

No matter how dire.

The trees carry us all.

Without them we could not breathe.

We use their bodies.

To build and to beautify.

We do little in return.

Trees have seen us come.

Trees will see us go.

This is not a tree.

It reaches out and grabs me.

It reaches out and grabs Lily.

I thought it was sleeping.

Black Cherry.

Not Black for colour.

This tree is spiteful.

You may taste the bitter fruit.

The remainder is poisonous.

Furrowed and rent.

Ruggedness belies a weakness.

For a tree's skin is thin.

Prone to intrusion and insult.

Colours of Fall.

Immortalized in death.

Aspens don't weep.

They creep.

Trees tell you where to go.

They guide you along.

They'll bar your way.

This is a tree.

It went through a moose.

Eaten alive.

Such as it is...

......being a tree.

The Tree Eater...

...was here.

And over there.

And, actually, it was all over the place.

Is it still here?

Listening to me talk to myself?