my favouritest tree in the world

Nowhere as evocative as the earlier photo, and somewhat blurry and unfocussed due to the shakiness of the photographer's hand (why does it shake?). But autumns are always more evocative than winter, they symbolise action rather than effect, they tell of struggle instead of acceptance or defeat, of dying and living rather than death. Poets know this of course. They write about the garden in autumn, not winter, they write about how flames burn most furiously towards their end, not about the cold nothingness of afterwards. whatever, this is just a picture of a tree against a pink sky.