Roots arch and turn in rustic twists, then take their plunge into the aromatic brown.
Roots dive into the brown as the most divine of waters, for they are the anchors in the deep for the great boughs and green plumage above.
As a child I told stories of a tree who could walk, who could talk and had a secret door for us children to hide within. Inside it was whatever you wished it to become, yet always it was safe and fun. As I walk now, the adult and elder, to see the tree roots so deep and strong, part of me still dreams of striding across the land. I guess I dreamed of "Ents" too, yet my version was somewhat more from the heart of the child. For my "Ents" were loving protection that gave real space for childhood innocence and imagination.
Those earth-hugging roots are as much biomass as the tree we see reach heavenward. For the tree is ever reaching into earth as much as it adores the sky.
The roots make a nest about the tree before making their home in the earth. Their bark is shades of brown that my brain can comprehend yet I have no words for, perhaps the artist with their palate could do them justice. They have a chaos yet an order too, for with no rules or awareness, together they grow in a way that anchors and quenches the tree.
The roots are clothed in the kind of browns that call to the deep, deep heart.