Trunk of an old pine tree halts me. The way it leans – not just leans, but twists and leans like a thickly muscled human body, strong, massive – captivates me.
Deeply striated bark, like sinew, two limbs outreaching, an old knot where a branch once grew, so very like an eye, chunky gaps in bark form a nose and a vertical, open mouth in profile on the right – the pine appears in motion. Yet I am rooted to the spot, feeling a powerful sense of presence in this tree. I think of Tolkien’s Ents, and of ancient druids who worshipped tree spirits. Twice I begin to walk away, and twice I return. An almost gravitational force holds me in place, in awe.
