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Saturday, 24 October 2020

Their owners reclaim them at night

 

Ever since a child climbing up them, making tree houses, swinging from homemade swings as Robin of Sherwood, I've loved trees. Now my tastes are more sedentary but I still like to touch them, sometimes even sniffing aka Joe Biden  the more attractive specimens. 


(First youtube pic might not show on iphone. It does show on my ipad and desktop)



There is music to this: The Lamentation of Owen Roe O'Neill by the blind C18th Irish harpist O'Carolan. The only thing of note is that it's played by me on Octave Mandola accompanied by guitar. It's from a different life, when I was a musician . . . of sorts.

But what was I saying about trees?

I love them grouped in shade and light



















I love them fully dressed










But most of all I love them naked, especially when, like looking at clouds, you see hidden shapes




From a distance you know something is not as it seems




And then you see it: a serpent, the tree's hidden owner or prey being consumed.


Clearly a tunnel, until you see the face and again the question, owner or one trapped in the tree. 


And here I see a mother rabbit and baby.





If you look top right corner you imagine a tree slowly sliding down, and the tree at the bottom clinging on for dear life, its roots turned into giant claws. But look again and you can see all manner of things: a horse's face, there's the  face of a malignant goblin somewhere there too. Look long enough and you'll see all manner of things.




And you just know that something lives in this tree. 



Here though, there is no pretence or attempt at disguise. this is owned by a tree gnome. Tradesman entrance below 



With all these things be wary at night when their owners awake and reclaim what is theirs

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