Touching. Every time I see you.

dswigle(77)

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Too many trees you say? I daresay never, there is a certain closeness with the recognizability based on our long association. Tell me it's true, you feel it too?

Touching. Every time I see you, I do it.
I love to run my hands up, then down, and feel how it feels.
Taking my hands, moving along with the texture of the bark.
There are so many ways.
To describe how it feels.
Rough, scaly, and beautiful, to only name a few.

My tree of life and I ask you, why not? Countless trees adorn my path, giving me the view every single day. I pick favorites, just like a good book. Someday, I may move on and find different favorites or mix it up a bit or change my walk. Although, the very nature of being familiar, there is something to be said for it. I touch it knowingly, the feel of it memorized. All these things, I would have to learn again should I change to different trees. Do you have a favorite tree or do love them all the same? Tell me true. Tell me, tell me, tell me do.

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Let me grow in the vision of love and delight.
Here as I sit upon the trail of life, ambling along.
For the sake of none.
Go ahead.
Hug me.
You know you want to.

Open my door to the world and what do I see? A new beginning to my day, filled with different possibilities. Greeting the day with clouds in the sky, not one but two red, red trees. In the principles found in Feng Shul, a red door is considered good luck and good fortune. Who knew the color of my door had meaning! What color is your front door? Mine is black!

I frequently stalk the trees, the thing that brings life to a photo, leaving an artistic taste in my mouth. A huge fan of Mother Natures' trees peeking out, framing her landscape, giving it a more interesting place to inhabit.

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Arlington National Cemetery is a stunning sight, the trees hemming in the beauty. The day is filled with sunshine, filtered by the branches, making a beautiful display. I never want to waste a moment of the season, so short and sweet it is. I inhale it in one smell, the near ripeness of the landscape just beginning to realize that the season is no longer in its heyday, but, longing to pass the torch to the next.

Today is #TreeTuesday initiated by @Old-Guy-Photos. Let's see some of those amazing tree posts! Let me know and I'll visit yours too!

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Flowers, always. There is #alwaysaflower to color my world.

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My thoughts, words and a few trees with a scattering of flowers. And just like that, these words are done. I want to thank you for visiting my post and walking through it with me.

All I have are my words, armed in my mind, written in pen, stand by stand. Oh, yes. Still by hand. It has a different feel. Altered not by keys, backspace, and delete, I write, erase, tear it to pieces and start all over again. And again.

It’s my way. I walk out to the deep end of the page and dive right in.

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The Road Not Taken

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I -
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

Robert Frost