Found myself in a patch of piney woods yesterday, on a path worn from use, although who uses it is a mystery because in eighteen years, I have only once seen a hunter's truck here. I settled down in a soft bed of needles to draw these striking Arrowood leaves. Many of the leaves on the small tree had been nibbled by insects, and every leaf was edged in black. The dappled afternoon sunlight hit the leaves just so and made them glow. Growing near the Arrowwood was a Carolina Jessamine whose delicate vine stem was heading for the sun of the open field.
The wonderful warmth of the 60 degree day brought out the tangy scent of pines, which I must say blended nicely with essence of drying hay that drifted in from the newly mown pipeline.