“There’s an upland meadow and near the top, all by itself, is a great oak tree, hundreds of years old.” His hands sketched the scene and placement. “The oak is strong and its boughs are wide and solid, stretching out evenly in all directions. I can’t see them, but I know its branches shelter animals, and there are more on the ground as well.”
Angharad was silent behind him.
“Ever since my childhood I’ve seen visions of it, and more frequently lately. The weather and the seasons change—sometimes autumn leaves and sunlight, sometimes heavy storm, sometimes a snowy moonlit night—but always it stands strong with roots reaching deep.”
He cleared his throat. “It’s silly, I know, but I can’t help looking for it whenever the lay of the land feels right. Your landscapes have something of the fee
