To me, there is nothing as beautiful as an old tree. When we made a trip out to Santa Clarita last weekend to meet up with Pete’s family for lunch, I knew I had to check out the native oak trees, which speckle the valleys and canyons and even the shopping centers in abundance. The road to a few of the oldest trees was marked with a “No Trespassing” sign, but I’m afraid I could not abide. Is it really such a crime to sit beneath an old oak tree as the wind runs through my hair and rustles my dress? What I love about oak trees is that each one is completely unique. The one featured in these photos was king of the hill, a loner, with arms both grazing the Earth and stretching up to the sky.
The wildflower dress, a perfect dress to welcome Spring, will be for sale in the shop come this weekend.
Trees are poems that earth writes upon the sky,
We fell them down and turn them into paper,
That we may record our emptiness.