This time of year rolls around and there's always the inevitable giddiness about the falling leaves.
The bright exploding bursts of color, tall hardwoods that suddenly look like flames in the most gorgeous shades of rust, orange, burnt sienna....
We ooh and ahh over the falling leaves, but I wonder what it's like from the trees' perspective?
I'm not one who believes in the sentience of plants or flora with souls, but I think about Tolkien's Ents and I can't help but wonder what the Oaks feel when Fall comes.
Is it like their Spring? Do they toss leaves to the ground, shaking them from their branches the way we peel off jackets and scarves at the first hint of sunlight come Spring?
Do they drop the burden of bird's nests and spider webs and squirrel's stoops to feel the cool breeze on naked branches?
It is awe-inspiring for them or a time of mourning?
Is there a sadness in the loss of the bright green summer foliage? Do they miss the rustle of leaves as the wind blows or the weight of summer rain coating their branches?
I made this in honor of the Oak.
It's Pilbara Jasper, but not to me.
To me, it's the teardrop of the Oak.
I don't know when they mourn, or if they do, but I imagine if Treebeard shed a tear, it would fall to the ground just like this, a solid piece of wood, with grain and color and he would leave a trail of them as he went.
There's a tiny leaf, sawed from silver on the back, with my mark.
It's a heavy ring. Not for the faint of heart, but for a heart of Oak.