General

The roots make a nest about the tree before making their home in the earth. Their bark is shades of brown that my brain can comprehend yet I have no words for, perhaps the artist with their palate could do them justice. They have a chaos yet an order too, for with no rules or awareness, together they grow in a way that anchors and quenches the tree.

General

The roots cascade from the baked hard ground, jets of rough brown bark looping and turning until they join the tree that towers above - a crazy highway of water from deep down. I want to cast my eyes to the canopy, a myriad of greens, to see the sharp beams of sunlight poking through. From time to time I pause for a moment to do just that, but walking means looking at my feet or I'll soon be sprawled on the dirt with an opportunistic twig up my nose.

General

The tree roots writhe like snakes turned to stone and my mind spins to Narnia and the white witch. I can imagine Mr Tumnus delicately picking his way through the holes between them, moving as well as any mountain goat in the highlands of home. My feet aren't so small and balance from one earthy brown coil to the next, sometimes balancing, sometimes slipping so fast I have to react fast to avoid another sprain.

General

Tangled tree roots, intertwined, like gnarled fingers twisting, knotted, looping, disappearing into twisted earthen forest pathway. Root ball of fallen tree ten feet tall, mud and rocks dangling from a mesh of brown branched roots.

By angela, March 5, 2012.