I love looking at trees in winter, especially landscaped ones by the roadside. Over the decades, certain branches have been pruned and sealed. Perhaps an infestation here or there destroyed or mutated the form of a limb as it was branching out. But the trees' DNA still instructs them to grow in a way that can't be denied. The result is a skeleton that is gnarled and winding, every twist an elegant reminder of its fight to be alive and true to itself.