The Subtle Changes in a Waking Tree
I’ve watched the mature willow tree sprout pussy willow
The first catkins opened on the Hazel trees
And the first buds have appeared on the saplings planted last year
And the first green leaves burst into the sunshine (still working out who this is - planted in the Aspen zone but I think the planters had some random trees left as they planted this area last)
But none of this explains the feeling I experience each spring when I watch the skeletal trees on the horizon with a sense of delight and wonder and I don’t want the first leaves to appear.
It's the same wistfulness I feel in autumn, wanting the colours to hang on before winter. I don’t quite understand this as I love to see the blossom emerge and the air to be full of the buzz of insects again.
To see the fresh leaves giving the widest range of greens across the canopy.
I thought this was an emotional response; wanting to slow down the rotation of the earth as once everything starts to bloom it is hard to keep up with the many changes that occur at once.
I was sitting gazing at one of my favourite mature trees (Brian Cherry). I was musing on why he looked so handsome just now when he has been without leaves since autumn.
On closer inspection I could see that each of the branches has swellings where the flowers will emerge in another month’s time. It isn’t obvious and I am surprised how the eye (and the heart) can spot this from afar.
I look across the valley and realised that those large Oaks will be the same. Although about 1km away, the sap is rising and each of those trees is a mm or so expanded and collectively that makes a difference to the eye.
Close up of one of my Oaks:-

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