August 20, 2017 Down this hill, about a mile from where we’ve parked and picked up the trail, is a tree I love. It’s dead, stripped of its bark, and a pale, washed silver. For years, it stood at an angle to the sky, tangled in another tree mid-fall, and
Moving to our new home in Reston, Virginia ushered in an era of uniformity, of sameness. Chantilly had offered abundant variety. Each tree had dispensed shade crafted from shafts of sunlight as they sliced through its specific pattern of branches, its uniquely shaped and hued leaves. Each had offered its
When I was a child, a large, perfectly shaped oak tree provided shade to our back yard, acorns for the squirrels, and lots of exercise for us in the autumn days when it released its giant load of leaves. My father and I spent many hours collecting and disposing of