I was struck the other day by the number of different kinds of maple leaves I saw in all their magnificent fall colours blowing along the roadside.  I picked a few up, I’m a bit of scavenger when it comes to Nature’s prettier droppings, thinking that I would identify them when I got home.  But then I remembered I’ve packed my books, including Trees of Canada.  I must have found six different kinds including Japanese maple which doesn’t really count, and the ubiquitous, prolific, invasive Norway maple.  The others, which I don’t know the names of, the native species, are all different shapes, including one which is just like the one on the Canadian flag so I think it may be sugar maple.

The book of trees is just one of the hundreds I’ve packed in boxes scrounged from the liquor store in preparation for our eventual move.  Already I’ve found it inconvenient, so I suppose that’s a good sign.  My collection of books is a living, useful one.