I've been on the hunt for the perfect tree. Perfectly imperfect, I should say. Been going around with our low-end digital camera (which might as well have a handcrank for as much good as batteries do it) and making a nuisance of myself in parks and on lawns. So as not to give people the right impression (I imagine I walk a fine enough line in the minds of our neighbors), I've been using Alex as something of a model. He's been a good sport, hamming it up with hemlocks, posing with poplars, beaming with birches and the like--all while I snuffle among the roots and shoots (gollumgollum), capturing everything but him and begging that he please not trample the mushrooms.
It's for a good cause. Or I hope. I've decided that if I'm going to spend my days shuttered in, I should at least have a reference of things without. Remind myself of the existence of organic line. Liven things up a little. Loosen my absolute stranglehold on symmetry. Perhaps throw a bit of dirt on the canvas. Or at least a little dust. Maybe something surprising will happen.
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