These trees shall be my books. Literally.

I have nothing to say today, so here's more from Sonnenberg. I stopped to look at this weeping beech the other day, and saw that some people had carved their initials in it. And I thought, oh, how charmingly old-fashioned. Then I looked closer and realized the number of carvings sort of bordered on vandalism. Is that unromantic of me? Maybe so. But at a certain point, this just isn't good for the tree. The bark is not your canvas, sweethearts! It reminds me of that part in As You Like It when Rosalind reads aloud the poems that Orlando has been writing about her and posting on trees, and they're absolutely terrible, and Touchstone says, "Truly, the tree yields bad fruit." Once in a while Shakespeare makes a joke that I don't need the OED to understand.

All that having been said, whoever did this last one gets points for climbing. Or having go-go-gadget arms.