The sycamores have surrendered their leaves and I tell her they're deep into winter sleep, though inside I worry for these naked trees— the sentinels of a time that has passed. "Why do you care about nature so much?" she asks as we walk through a dry stream bed. With careful footing around stream boulders I manage to… Continue reading Elegy for the Sycamores I: The Lie I Tell My Granddaughter