Old Oak

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  A small piece of land with an old oak tree left in the middle of a field in an agricultural landscape. An island of nature where it pulses with life.
  I keep coming back to this place at different times of the year. I spread large papers on the grass. At first, I perceive with my eyes closed. The birds chirping, the ants tickling, the wind occasionally knocking off last year's acorns. Sometimes I surprise a few deer. It's as if there's a condensed life flowing near the tree that won't let the sounds of farm machinery nearby stop it. I open my eyes and, in a slightly altered state, quickly transfer the experience to paper.