On a recent outing for another purpose, I found myself taken by the slender, skyward-reaching branches of the small trees I was among. I think it was the gray sky and the light drizzle that did it. It was a chill day, not unlike early spring, and I half remembered a William Carlos Williams poem which I’ve been unable to find. In searching, however, I came across The Botticellian Trees in Selected Poems, and the first part seemed to partially fit the subject:
The alphabet of
is fading in the
song of the leaves
bars of the thin
letters that spelled
and the cold
Furthermore, the The Birth of Venus by Botticelli which came to mind has, in what I’ve always thought was the show-stealer—the nymph on the right bringing the cape for modesty—a better match for the spirit of curly Grace in those branches and twigs.
So here are more of the meetings of tree and sky I photographed. Do they seem forlorn to you? I admit to a certain wistfulness of the season, though I was thoroughly delighted to be out there.
Update: Click on the last image for a larger version.