In the woods on the mountain I was newly struck by the beauty of the aspens. Their scars, their gorgeous imperfections. Stubs and stumps, stretch marks, evidence of trials by fire, wind, ice. Yet they stand proud, impassive, somehow both vulnerable and impervious. They'll live a long time but like all living things someday they'll die, some of them sooner than others, which may seem random or unfair to us but surely not to them. They are far too busy growing, reaching fresh into a new space of sky, dancing with infinity.