To hear the leaves thudding down on the forest floor,
And seeing them pushed up on resilient support,
To see the freshest nascent greens and purples,
And the old peeling browns.
To hear the symphony of birds,
The rustling and wheezing of the breeze,
To see stillness,
To be in it,
To be it,
To hear drops plopping onto the ground,
To feel the snow melt and drip down,
To welcome the shade of a canopy,
And to the magic and marvel of massive trees.
Beautiful, majestic and puzzling superorganisms,
To hear them creaking as they gently dance,
To see them bare – a bare tree, bare forest, and soon, later, a thick canopy, a majestic green crown blooming.
To see seasons change.
To breathe the air,
To feel the humidity,
To feel the humus on the wooden floor,
To see light dancing through,
To be scared,
To move through the woods and forests,
And to be moved by them.
To bathe in the forest,
And its memory.
Reading the fantastic, insightful book “The hidden life of trees” by Peter Wohlleben and am transferred into the magical places that forests are.