Tom M. Wilson

Silver silence.

The locker of this natural world still has plenty of patterns and species within, yet to be encountered.

The Retreat.

The trunk of this Wandoo has all the colour and curvature of a human body. Its warm tones and taught muscles rise confidently in the January warmth, despite no rain having nourished this tree in a long time. Don’t you just want to run your hand over this bark?

Jane Hirschfield has written a poem called The Tree. Having read Hirschfield’s poem, I started to think that the good nature photographers could be said to plant the seed of a redwood - or a Wandoo, to use a more Western Australian example - in our little urban lives. As the tree rises up besides us, the clutter of our housed existences is thrown into salutory perspective.