Notes from a Tree/12

A bud in September (a budding September,

two-thousand and thirteen) –

delicate, yet sturdy

soft, green and furry

tempting

inquisitive

fingertips:

“Touch me.”

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The tree

– like the whole garden –

is a riot of vigorous green

like an orchestra

boisterous

clamouring

bursting towards my camera

willing me to capture it.

I try to.

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a riot of vigorous green

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boisterous, clamouring…

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bursting towards my camera

 

I am obsessed with this tree

obsessed with the shapes of its branches

which I photograph from every angle.

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the shapes of its branches

And the spaces in between its dancer’s gesturing arms

draw me

like Alice’s looking-glass.

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The spaces in between its arms

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A Leopard in Love

On Tuesday, September 3rd, 2013, I had a busy time in the tree, watching people, taking photographs, making notes, having Deep Thoughts.

When I climbed down onto the lawn, I sat on the grass for a moment to lick my paws, turned around and – Oh!

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I turned around and – Oh!

I think I’m in love.

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I think I’m in love

Notes from a Tree/11

On the third of September last year, I found bird poo on my favourite branch of the magnolia tree.  I wondered who had dared to soil my perch: a magpie? One of the parakeets I’d heard cheeping their way across the sky the day before? Probably a pigeon, by the size of it.  I dabbed at it disgustedly with a tissue, before lying on it.  

Probably a pigeon

Probably a pigeon

Later, I sat in a fork of the tree, watching children cartwheeling and taking faltering, upside-down steps on their hands across a patch of lawn not far from me.

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I sat in a fork of the tree…

When they ran off, disappearing from view, I heard them calling to one another as they climbed the crooked and bent old laburnum. I growled loudly to deter them, but they didn’t hear me.  I need to practise my growling.