We open the car door… Silence hangs from the branches.
We hear a faint rustling of leaves, like the skirts of a hundred brides, pale and straight-backed.
The branches flare out against the sky. Branches like intricate capillaries.
The trees stand straight, the forest reduces us with silence.
We are dwarfs here, busy little creatures, shrunk down to a couple of centimetres.
I am small.
The world goes on without us.
We forget time, we forget those defining characteristics of being human, we forget ourselves.
Somehow we climb the smooth bark of the trees and spread our insides out over the top branches.
Somehow it is beautiful to be reduced to nothing, to turn out and up from the self.
The trees are regal and pure:
They keep on growing, they are undemanding, they bless contemplative hearts.