Number 6

Gary is reading Andre Gide--he's been reading him all week.  He says there's a phrase in Gide's If It Die that he thought I might like.  And I do.  Gide is walking in a narrow valley near his home and remembers his friend, poet Francis Jammes, saying "And  skies too little over trees too big."

Number 5

Not long ago I began a notebook-- an alphabet--based on fragmentary photographs of trees.  Trees without their foliage can appear to look purely calligraphic.  
This maple tree seems to assumes the shape of the letter Y, and like in the letter Y, there is a mysterious point at which, the tree trunk, like a path or a road, splits itself into two directions.  Thinking of calligraphic marks that can be discerned subliminally as paths or roads, I remembered something from St. John of the Cross : " If a man wants to be sure of his road, he must close his eyes and walk in the dark." 

Number 4

I love this magnificent old cedar but I can't write about it.  It's too strong for me.  Gary suggested this: "The great cedar is striding; one day it will catch up to itself and fall."  I hope not.  We've lost too many trees in our neighbourhood this year

Number 3

Like an animal, this tree, still and peaceful, warms its limbs in the afternoon sun.

Number 2

The old tree dwelling on its elephantine foot longs to take steps out onto the grass. 

Number 1

I have taken the title for this new column from Some Trees, a volume of poems by John Ashbery from 1956.

In this photograph, an old oak tree stands listless under the sky like a vessel and yet, as a time-worn cast-iron bell, it holds the memory of the sounds of all the birds and creatures it had ever encountered.