slow show

I wrote this poem November 20, shortly before we left on our trip out west. That seems so long ago. I have revised it significantly form the original draft: the last line in particular has been a subject of some sport for me. The tree in question (see photo to the right) is the tallest in the centre of the city, some eighty feet, I estimate. It is much taller than it appears in the photo; I used auto stitch to join two photos of it that I took a few moments ago. note how the photo tapers at the top. The tree seemingly taller in the foreground to the right is actually considerable shorter, if you consder that I was shooting up at quite an angle for the top of this. In years that huge murders of crows flock to the centre of the city, they seem to focus over that tree, often filling its branches as prodigiously as the leaves. Local tree firms are hesitant to consider pruning it, so large and dangerously close to property is it. I wonder what the future holds?