Plants are the young of the world, vessels of health and vigor; but they grope ever upward towards consciousness; the trees are imperfect men, and seem to bemoan their imprisonment, rooted in the ground. – Ralph Waldo Emerson

The trees are whispering to me, reminding me of my roots, and my reach… shhhhhh… can you hear them? Selflessly sharing their subtle song. – Jeb Dickerson, jebdickerson.com

But these trees are derelicts—throwing out a wisp of foliage here and there, a truce to death, with each returning spring. – Julia Ellen Rogers, “The Big Tree and the Redwood,” The Tree Book: A