Posted: Friday, June 29, 2012 1:09:32 PM
I can't be more than ten feet off the ground, but my field of view from sitting on the patio to the deck has been profoundly transformed. From here, I can see over the chipped, chestnut fence and into the yard of my neighbors, and the neighbors behind them, and beyond that I can see the street.
What I appreciate most about this new venue, however, are the trees. Nearly all of the trees in half of my neighborhood stand before me. Reaching skyward towards the evening sun like the arms of a child outstretched to a parent, the branches are touched by the yellow sunlight and appear to be dusted with gold. This effects only patches throughout the trees, though, for some leaves are resigned to be in the shadows of others and are therefore forced to prematurely embrace the darkness of the evening. As a result, the quivering, green mass of the trees is splotched unevenly with honeyed light as if the sun was some careless artist who had dotted the treeline with his brilliant pen without concern for repetition, rhythm, or order. Completely defying the conventions of art and aesthetics, the chaotic distribution of gold on that swaying, green canvas is somehow beautiful in a way that no painter could hope to imitate with his planning, his measuring, his careful sketching. Indeed, man can never truly replicate the beauty of nature, a beauty that knows no purpose or intent, but simply is.
From my spot on the deck, I can see the sun's brightness as it continues its descent towards the horizon. I stand from my chair and return indoors, ready to pass the evening and await tomorrow's new masterpiece.