I am having a love affair with live oak trees. My husband doesn’t mind; he built us a house among them. My studio window looks out into their canopies. It’s like my own personal Eden.
I like their majestic trunks, which can be gray or lavender or chocolate according to the light. Live oak branches grow in all directions and look like arms waving in the breeze. Sometimes they swoop down to touch the earth. When the evening sun turns the leaves to gold, it takes my breath away.
Standing next to a live oak that is hundreds of years old makes me feel small and insignificant. Yet, I also feel something else—the power of nature, the precious vulnerability of the landscape, my privilege to live among these giant trees, my desire not to harm them or their environment.
I like their majestic trunks, which can be gray or lavender or chocolate according to the light. Live oak branches grow in all directions and look like arms waving in the breeze. Sometimes they swoop down to touch the earth. When the evening sun turns the leaves to gold, it takes my breath away.
Standing next to a live oak that is hundreds of years old makes me feel small and insignificant. Yet, I also feel something else—the power of nature, the precious vulnerability of the landscape, my privilege to live among these giant trees, my desire not to harm them or their environment.
