I’m fascinated by trees. They are woody plants, made of similar stuff as a forsythia bush or poke weed plant, and yet they tower over me, making me feel like an ant wandering between blades of grass. They are enormous, stretching 40, 60, 80 feet in the air like solid cliffs and yet they bend with the wind. While on a recent trip to Florida I was reminded of the poetry of live oak trees in particular. Along with being the state tree of Georgia, mature live oaks just exude stately wisdom with their limbs stretching in all directions, some reaching for the sky, others curving back down and even touching the ground. Their gnarled trunks form footholds that beg a child to climb into their low hanging branches. I always imagine Shel Silverstein’s
How do live oaks survive a hurricane?
How do live oaks survive a hurricane?
How do live oaks survive a hurricane?
I’m fascinated by trees. They are woody plants, made of similar stuff as a forsythia bush or poke weed plant, and yet they tower over me, making me feel like an ant wandering between blades of grass. They are enormous, stretching 40, 60, 80 feet in the air like solid cliffs and yet they bend with the wind. While on a recent trip to Florida I was reminded of the poetry of live oak trees in particular. Along with being the state tree of Georgia, mature live oaks just exude stately wisdom with their limbs stretching in all directions, some reaching for the sky, others curving back down and even touching the ground. Their gnarled trunks form footholds that beg a child to climb into their low hanging branches. I always imagine Shel Silverstein’s