MEMORY OF TREES
It’s the trees that call to me during the season’s change. For some, it’s the color change followed by the wild tumbling of leaves to the ground. For other trees, it’s the promise of no change as they keep their boughs in evergreen shades.
Trees mark the progression of time, the transformation of seasons, and the memory of life passing.
The heady aroma released by damp leaves and dripping branches alerts my being to the need to prepare. A replacement of garments and footwear demand my attention.
I am stimulated by the need to abandon old patterns and adapt to new ones. Today I will observe the natives’ clothing preference and research my choices.
My images of possibilities are filled with radical changes.
Water will not make me melt. I am not the wicked witch.