Stepping out onto the soft moss floor, my feet sink in. Embraced and encased by the tender green plants. The damp bark and shade hug in close; I am surrounded by these stately firs and spruce. The texture of green. Everywhere there is life and life and more life. The faint buzz, vibration, a hum, the flow of life through each tree. The rush of water up, a steady geyser hidden beneath old cracked bark. The flow of syrup, sap, nutrients and fuel, these must have a sensation too. Relief pouring into roots, stored sunshine, bottled elixir to be inhaled and consumed, sipped steadily through winter. The long cold.

If you could be as still as the trees, they would whisper their stories to you. A great love. A long, slow stretch to gaze upon her lovers face. Steady adoration. No matter how many rainy days cover the brilliance, the sun, is patiently watched by her loyal devotees. Imagine, no trace of sorrow on parting at sunset, only patient, abiding, anticipation. She will return. Turn.


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