Old Birch

One of my favourite trees on campus is a tall, mature, very white birch. It's a little lost in a car-park hinterland, but manages to bring a touch of serenity to a nowhere space.

Today I was drawn into its bark. I've always been intrigued by the eye features that trees develop and the way they cultivate the sense of being watched in the woods. The more I look at this picture, the more of a face I see, the whorl of a penetrating eye, the dark ridge of a nose, the furrowed brow. Perhaps you see something different?

ridges and furrows ~ arboreal wisdom ~ peels through my layers