The tree broke through the ground in the middle of an unkempt
cornfield. It had long ago been taken hostage by a tangle of vines whose knotty
braids slithered up the length of the trunk. In the winter when the leaves
fell to the ground the rough sketch of a face could be seen in the blanks
between the branches against the sky. The frail vines arched and coiled around
the tips of the tree forming eyes and a mouth in the familiar location and
proportion. The mouth stood in a line perfectly parallel to the ground, void of
expression except for when the wind blew from the northeast corner of the field.
The wind would disrupt the branches and bounce the features of the face; creating
the illusion that the mouth was smiling, maybe she thought, in remembrance of the land from whence it came.
Photo credit: Robin Mellway
