I have always loved looking at the sky through the branches of trees.
Walking to school as children, we passed a beautiful copper beech tree, just around the corner from our street. I used to love the blue and white of the sky and clouds through the copper coloured branches and leaves of that tree especially.
I remember my dad explaining that these trees first appeared in the 1800s after a period of particularly strong sun activity. I don't know if that's true but I was fascinated by it, long before I'd heard of Charles Darwin and his theories of evolution. It seemed perfectly logical to me, especially as my dad had told me and I had great faith in him.
Many years ago, while looking through my then front window, across the green to the flats and the trees which lay beyond them, this poem began to form itself in my head as I gazed at them.
Trees in Winter
You, in your world of black, skeletal structure,
Etched in rare fragility,
Against the pale, winter-blue sunlit sky.
How you move on my horizon,
Beyond the angled outline of homes,
Their brick walls warm and clay colourful
By the sun's good grace.
Walking in these February days, I feel the same love for the trees, gauntly spread across the sky, and find that they mean as much to me today as they did all those years ago.
