A young deer left me a perfect heart . . .
A butterfly floated by, attached to a sycamore.
. . . and tiny prints let me know this rock had been visited since the snow had fallen
Deer sitings have been few since fall as the deer have largely remained hidden in the woods. I catch glimpses through the trees.
Speaking of trees, I concentrated on trees for this particular morning's walk.
An oak coated in sage colored lichen
Or a dogwood with its own splash of lichen
Each species of tree, unique in its bark.
Could this tree actually be pregnant?
This is my favorite.
Locust trees refuse to die.
This relic could be a great symbol for an individual human.
As we age, more and more outside "stuff" grabs on to us; memories clinging like vines that can both weigh us down and hold us up simultaneously.
We continue to grow through them,
. . . and they through us, some of the strongest burrowing deep into our very being.
. . .until we close ourselves around them and each becomes part of us.