Sitting in my screen house, curled up on the papasan with a book and a cup of coffee, I look out and see this pretty tree.
I can’t help but grab my camera and capture its pale greens and golds, softened by the late afternoon light.
Maybe it takes a child to find an acorn, but I haven’t seen one since I was young.
We used to go to a cottage in Madran, NB, when I was growing up. Behind the cottage was a woodsy trail. I remember the delight in finding acorns and hazelnuts there. (If memory serves me.)
Now, it is my son who opens the door of our house with this tiny acorn, found below the oak tree in our yard.
Of course, I can’t help but photograph it. It seems as though it should have a face, this little cap-wearing nut.