Dryad

I have declared this Linden to be holy, that I continue to see as a woman. Far enough away there's but little difference: The trunk is the body, the clothes leaves, and above all the golden hair is the blossoms. If the right moment might be spared from change, then I could see how she emerged out of her effigy and make a photograph of this to save. A motion picture could be made, the process would be manageable, I could give self-willed the intended phase so much wide screen that she would spontaneously outlive the tree, having escaped appearance and herself partaking, out of the blind breach walking to meet me.