Vernal Trees.

I love trees.
In any season, in any weather, any kind.
There is something majestic, impressive and almost comforting about this living architecture. Trees are never the same as they change through the seasons, yet they are always constant and always just simply there.

On numerous occasions I have found solace just by gazing at their luscious crowns, as they sway in the summer breeze. Often when everything around me crumbles, resolves or goes trough an unsettling transition, the presence of Birches just outside my windows or Chestnuts and Oaks lining my favorite trails seems to at all times put my mind at ease.

Last weekend, as the first glorious spring weather settled over southern Scandinavia I took a walk near my home, along my favorite natural path, where I often go to seek solitude and tranquility.
I was greeted by spring trees, in all their pristine austerity. Their bare branches, twisting and turning, like natural artwork rising above my head, the colour of earthy dark tones, appeared in such a strong contrast against the azure blue vernal sky, holding so much promise.

Seemingly dead and lifeless, I know that appearance can be so deceiving at times. So much life is preparing to push through, hidden and protected deep within the twigs, beneath the bark, away from the chill of the early spring air.

Glancing at the last traces of snow and feeling the warmth of the sun on my face, as I stood in between the seasons, I suddenly knew in no uncertain terms that a change is on the way.