I stepped out of the car, walked to the shadow of this tree.
I touched its rugged trunk and admired the twisted branches and the leaves.
The Lick Observatory was behind it, shining like a moonstone.
I inhaled deeply. The air was full of the sweetness of the winter sun-dried old grass and the musky, earthy smell of the newly grown green ones. In between were the fallen leaves and pine needles.
The light smog and fog turned the valley into a mini version of the Smoky Mountains’ signature silhouettes.
Then a breeze swept by, the oak leaves started to sing.
The sound was musical and poetic.
I wish I had a way to record that sound in the purest native form.
That was a moment in life that made you freeze in time and enjoy as long as it lasts.
