Trees

The View from My "Watchtower"

Okay, I don't actually have a "watchtower" per se, in the lead-in photo that is the view from my command post at Chez Sarge. 'Tis the room where the blog is produced, e-mails are received and dispatched and various and sundry computer activities take place.

Now that tree featured prominently in the aforementioned opening photo has been featured in the blog before, in winter and in spring. The Missus Herself tells me that it is a Weeping Cherry Tree, said name fitting it very well. (And of course, who am I to doubt my better half?) It has a partner which sits at the opposite end of the property. Which would be the western reaches of my vast domain.

This tree sits on the eastern border of the estate and is pleasing to my eyes.

Now this next one is pleasing to both the eye and the ear...

Sawtooth Aspen

It's a pretty tree and when the wind is up, those leaves whisper and rustle. They speak a language known only to other trees and yet, I feel their message deep inside of me. For where I grew up the forests stretch for miles and miles. They stretch from the east and the rocky coast of Maine and go all the way west to the shores of the Great Lakes. They stretch down to the Atlantic coast in Connecticut and north well into Canada. Up to where my arrière-grand-père was born, in Trois-Rivières on the banks of the mighty St Lawrence. (Or Fleuve St-Laurent if you wish.)

There was a time that if you put me in a place with no trees I would get exceedingly anxious. The Air Force cured me of that. Living on the Great Plains made me appreciate the wide open spaces. Yet, when I would see a creek or river in the distance, lined with cottonwood trees, I yearned to go there and walk amongst the trees.

And listen to their songs.