For the trees...

Some visit Colonial Williamsburg for the history.

I visit for the trees.

And the creatures.

And the ghosts.

In December, the sycamores are hung with festive seedballs:

The fig tree is setting fruit...

...and the many gingkos have carpeted the ground in golden yellow.

Here grow the oldest, largest boxwoods that I've seen.  Boxwood is the only plant I know on which you can smell the strong, woodsy fragrance of the leaves simply by walking by.  Even with lavender and rosemary, you must crush the leaves a bit or bury your nose in them.

The oaks around the Capitol Building make it my dream home.

The oaks, the way the evening sun lights up the front, casting dramatic tree shadows...

...and those round rooms on the end

where I'd like to take early morning tea in my nightrail and wrapper.

Would the ghosts let me live there if I didn't complain about their

rousing revolutionary speeches shouted from my balcony?

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