Stark Love

Rainy Day at the Gardens

Rainy Day at the Gardens

Few things are more directly beautiful than winter trees: stripped of all ornament, clearly etched against the changing sky, moving in the stiff manner of wood into and then back against the wind.

If leaves can be compared to clothing, then the deciduous tree in winter is naked.

If clothing can be deceptive, then the tree in winter is true.

If leaves represent an extreme profusion of form that is more finally articulated than the eye can register, much less language describe, then the form of the tree in winter is stark, particularly against the steel gray monochrome of the sky as snow comes.

But the form of a winter tree, though it may be stark and withered, is liable also to be extraordinarily complex. The bare bark is channeled and cracked, and the directions of growth frozen into the form of each branch include saggings, twistings, splinterings, angles at which the branch has reached out or up. The form of the tree is a register of its history. The coloring, too, becomes as subtle as our approach is proximate: all the grays, blacks, and browns of wabi, with perhaps the weathered white of dead lichen or the blasted green of last year’s moss.

— Crispin Sartwell Six Names of Beauty

I have always loved the stark beauty of trees in the winter. 🙂

Peace,

~me

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2 Responses

  1. missing the winter already??? but your thoughts are true!

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