Nov 152014
This time of year, I find tree leaves, particularly those backlit by the late-day sunlight, absolutely entrancing. And this is particularly true of white oaks, whose leaves evoke satellite images of foreign landscapes. Veins form patterns of rivers or roads, patches of lingering green the forest cover. Like maps, the leaf patterns kindle a yearning for exploration, and awaken memories of childhood days outdoors, pretending I was in Middle Earth, or perhaps an imaginary world of my own devising, inspired by Bridge to Terabithia.
