belgards:

Today I learnt about a ninety-nine year old woman who wrote love poems to trees, knowing of their personalities, their oddities and their loves. She would name each and every one, sketching their seasonal changes and bark peelings. Her canvas was a blanket that sat in her lap, and she would spend hours in the cold of Oxford, just being with these trees that she so adored. She died one night, slipping on ice whilst on her way to the park. She left behind a love that has affected so many people, including me through the power of story-telling. She called every wonderful light “a beautiful soul” and she loved every single little thing. As the lunar new year begins, with its light refilled, I will only wish to become more like this old soul, and love every little good thing on this earth. 

(via leopoldgursky)