I have been taking a lot of pictures of tree trunks.
They seem to be saying something to me about aging and about being individual. When they were young, all these trees were like their own type, but in age, all bent and scarred, they are themselves; they have achieved grandeur from survival, and I feel something like solidarity with them, and that their survival is an achievement to be respected. I love their shapes, but also their colours and textures, and it's a bad day when I don't notice something wonderful and new in the way of a tree trunk.
I do edit the photos, especially, of course, the ones that are not so good.
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| Oak |
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| Yew |
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| Beech |
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