The tree I've tried to follow this year has turned out to be too far away. Not only that - I never really liked it.
Not 'liking' a tree should be irrelevant. If it had been easier to get to I might have asked myself why I found it boring. I'm certain that would have been an illuminating exercise. After all, my choice of tree last year was absurd: it was a pine and the branches were too high to see properly let alone the needles. So I concentrated on its trunk - the point at which it went into the earth, the root flare round it, its bark. And I loved it - having that small focus.
But this year . . . . I've abandoned the boring, far-away tree and have chosen one nearer; one I like.
It's another daft choice. Instead of being able only to see the trunk - I can only see the top. Its roots are down in a dip. I've visited this sycamore before and keep going back. To go back and back to see just a bit of a tree is a testament to its character and beauty. So I'll be following its top for a year beginning now.
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