Looking up

Near my new home, there is a park. In the park, among many other things, there is a graceful, old sycamore tree. It is all by itself so it has grown without needing to compete for sunlight. Yet it has put forth an array of limbs, seemingly heading in every direction.

The bark of this tree is mottled, with gray-green areas and white ones. I don’t know what causes this but it seems common to sycamores, especially older and larger ones. If it were an animal, I would hypothesize that it was a form of camouflage. But this tree isn’t exactly hiding. It must serve some other purpose.

It’s a mystery, a minor mystery to be sure, but one of many wonders in my world that I see and enjoy and simply don’t understand. I love looking up at the varied textures and colors of the bark with smaller and smaller limbs as my eyes go up.

It’s a comfort to look up, to see the sky behind this growing and grounded part of our world. Still without its leaves, I take its stance as hopeful, filled with anticipation, as am I.