There is a tree in our back yard, a Pacific Dogwood, and after an annual flash of stunning spring beauty it invariably becomes exceedingly drab. Or so I thought. My desk sits at a window overlooking this tree and when the words for my current work in progress are being dodgy, I look out—and see.
The numerous twigs that litter the spring lawn beneath it? While our compulsively fetch crazy terrier is thrilled with the ready stick supply, I believed them to be careless cast-offs, rather like dirty clothing accumulating on the floor of a neglected bedroom. That was before I noticed the crows diligently snapping off branches and choosing only the best (I have no solid understanding of crow/ stick criteria) to carry off to their boudoir.
Summer drought brings a shedding of leaves barely surpassed by fall’s main event, but fewer leaves to support when water is scarce is undeniably wise. And it was in summer as the sun dappled through that dwindling canopy that I caught this picture of the trunk ~ small wonder the crows are fond of this tree.
Fall brings another view. While the foliage doesn’t glow with blazing colour, the Dogwood’s fruit ripens and the feathered and the furred gather to feast and squirrel away the bounty. As it gives to all comers, this tree seems more alive in its dying away than in any other season.
Winter and the bare tree offers one last pleasure; I find again the view beyond.