I am observing Aspen trees; painting their stark quietness in the Winter and the fluttering leaves in the Summer. As an Aspen tree matures, the oldest branches blacken and die and eventually fall from the tree leaving a scar on the trunk, most often in the shape of an eye.
I see the trees in the midst of this environment as sentinels and physical stalwarts. I think of the scars as eyes, watchful and protective. I notice the scars that line the length of the trunk, and think of them as markers of wisdom attained only through growth.