sycamore.

My walk to work every day includes an avenue full of sycamore trees. To say that I enjoy these trees would be an understatement. Every day, I nearly trip over my own feet or a crack in the sidewalk, and my usual speed of .5 Avenues/min slows to close to 0. I am mesmerized by the peeling bark, exposing all the colors that from afar intertwine like splotches of pigment in an impressionist painting. Upon closer look, each separate hue is so precise that it looks like a paint by numbers, spaces where someone has carefully filled in complementary shades of green and brown to create the perfect work of art. I stare up as I walk, intensely pleased by how nicely the trees are illuminated by the clear blue sky behind them. Occasionally someone walking near me will glance upwards also, trying to catch a glimpse of whatever it is that I'm looking at, but I'm sure they're disappointed when they realize there's nothing there but a tree...