I’m thinking a lot about pecan trees lately. Our family has a thing about pecan trees, about pecan halves, about pecan pieces. In high school, I used to drive by a beautiful road that had a massive pecan orchard. Trees were in neatly ordered rows, stretching back along both sides as far as the eye could see.

The leaves of a pecan tree are long and elegant, so simple it’s probably not something many people notice. I loved their simplicity. I enjoyed the clean lines like those of a quickly drawn sketch from a gifted artist, familiar with finding beauty in unusual places. In the fall, the yellowed leaves along the road transformed the world into gold; one last show of autumn before the trees would slumber.

Winter Prosapio is a writer, a wife, and a working mom of two girls, two cats, and one ridiculously enthusiastic terrier mix.

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