In Maine, late fall is a time of subtraction. The golden glow of October has been replaced by the more austere pleasures of November. Gone are the brilliant autumn leaves, and instead we have a landscape that is marked by the dark bones of leafless trees.
However, I find trees beautiful during any season, and to me a tree with bare branches is spare and poetic, almost like haiku.
This picture of our friends’ home—a classic New England farmhouse—illustrates the beauty and sweep of the bare trees.
If you click on the picture, it will enlarge the photo, and you will be able to better see those bare trees and the red roof, which I absolutely adore.
Until spring comes, I will be admiring the bare trees whenever I go for walks.
Less is not necessarily more, but seeing the essence of the trees somehow brings me closer to them.