|The one bright and beautiful thing I could see from my bedroom window was a row of poplars peeking up over a roof. When I returned to visit in later years, they were dying of old age.|
|I was sorry to see them go because I had spent so many hours watching their leaves flash and gleam in the sunlight.|
|I think of poplars as the slender Lombardy polar. Here’s a row of them receding into the distance.
The author of Tree Notes thinks of the poplar as the sturdy cottonwood. Follow the link for more musings on trees.