The year turns again, and the woodland awakens. The newborn leaves are as perfect in their crinkled and greening infancy as they were last autumn, glowing with colour and tart fragrance on the forest floor.
Every single awakening tree and newborn leaf is astonishing, but if I must choose to be a single tree — northern wight that I am — I shall be a scarlet maple, the tree of the Lanark Highlands.
Friday is traditionally my "Mama Says Om" day, but the theme this week (my children: observations) does not lend itself easily to my meandering thoughts. My brood have all flown, and they left the nest years ago.
In the alternative, these leaves are my children.