We can not pass the beautiful tree, it is for us like a red rag to a bull. Before we had found an appropriate view (which you see now), we carefully examined it from different sides. But every now and then the view was deteriorated by houses, cars on the background.
But then we stopped, looked through waist-level finder and were impressed with queerness of the branches, how they dissolved in unsharpness. Branches, trunks, play with depth of field – how is it possible not to love trees?