Trees Or Car Ride: Upstate New York

Dark bark ink shaking hands thoughts into thick cobwebs speeding by in the cold, in the car, from the window---the forest in naked layers, bared and hiding both. Everything runs together at this speed, angled rain and rugged roots. But clean golden field red house chimney, brief silence, in the swirl of sticks and rivers.

"But you see, life is not like that at all; life is not permanent. Like the leaves that fall from a tree, all things are impermanent, nothing endures; there is always change and death. Have you ever noticed a tree standing naked against the sky, how beautiful it is? All its branches are outlined, and in its nakedness there is a poem, there is a song. Every leaf is gone and it is waiting for the spring. When the spring comes it again fills the tree with the music of many leaves, which in due season fall and are blown away; and that is the way of life."

Think On These Things, p. 140, Krishnamurti