Spanish Banks
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It is not a down pour or sheets of rain but a quite humidity that has reached a point that water is everywhere, falling and opening umbrellas. Walking toward the beach the colours are emerald, jade and sea green with trunks emerging upward then branching eventually into thin irregular lines against the blue shrouds of clouds. A quite riot of crows perch delicately etched against the sky waiting.
In the November rain, this tree seemed to dance against the sky, as you look upward past the gnarled bole towards its crown the twigs etched fine black lines against the sky, while the lower bough curved, descends and rises again just above the ground. The grass so green from the rain seems almost raw in its intensity against the reds of the trees that have turned in the background. Some might see it as naked or dead against this background, but strength and longevity are projected, alive and gathering strength toward Spring.
After the rains have lifted, a cold effulgent light penetrates a multiplicity of bifurcating limbs, an etching against the stillness of the pond. A thick woody trunk emerges from the turf its milkiness almost obscured by old wounds and moss, is its twisted frame a cantankerous reaction to the surrounding chaos?
There is always one that dances. It has been raining heavily as the spent clouds begin to open with cracks of light then sky, reflections begin to shimmer and looking up I see a grove of trees but one is dancing. There is always one who dances, even on a sidewalk with the staccato movement of the rushing crowd. There is always an individual legato movement, always one who moves with elegance and fluidity. Like the sidewalk dancer here in this November grove one tree performs a rapturous pirouette against the sky.
