old man of the forest

We gaze out our dining room windows into the arms of trees.
A green thicket of waving limbs.
This morning, as we sat sipping tea and talking, my husband chuckled.
In the dark and light of branch and sky and shadow, he could clearly see the face of a man.
An old man with a flowing beard.
And as the wind gusted, the man seemed to talk, or sing, his beard twitching, his face alive with movement.
"Show me," I begged.
"Well, you'd have to be sitting here," he began, as I promptly perched on his lap.
Sure enough in the distant green, a face appeared.
The old man of the forest.
He lives in my yard!!
I'm not positive he was talking or singing.
He looked like he was chewing gum.
A big juicy wad of spruce gum.

Tolkien came to mind.
And Ents.
Our old man of the forest looked quite old.
Ancient and wise, breathing the morning in and exhaling winter's wind.