Sunday, 4 January 2015
There is an inherent beauty in the starkness of winter trees. Uncloaked of their leafy apparel the bark of bare trunks and branches resonates a true raw beauty. Outside my bedroom window is a stand of poplars. They are some sixty feet or more tall. In autumn before the heart shaped leaves cascade down I have on occasion bemoaned their height as they blocked out the last hour of golden autumnal sun. This morning however I find myself full of remorse for such a thought. Brushed by the palette of the rising sun the stand is a blaze. Flaming tongues of red reaching upwards to lick a clear blue canvas as if to taste and melt the frosty morning air. Over the past month I have been entranced by these poplar silhouettes and nature's ever changing palette. Earlier in the week after a long lie in I was greeted to a vision of pure gold embroidered on a cloth of finest grey. It was the calm before the storm.