A bushy tree sits in direct sunlight. It is a harsh L.A. glare: direct, piercing, unrelenting. The green shines bright and unreal. On the underside it casts shadows upon itself, dark recesses hiding the branches: a bird nesting, a spider casting a web, a squirrel clutching an acorn, a worm crawling between ridges of the bark to an unknown destination.
No. 203