I always wanted to walk through a rainforest. I never have. But this is the closest I have ever been. The magesty of these trees rise above me on both sides, reminding me that this is their land, their forest, not mine, not yours. Their persistent life and rotting death braids together while it drips off of every gagged edge of bark, softened by rain. Out of the corner of my eye, a firework of ferns snags my attention. The bend of the bows points me to ten more ferns. They all cluster together, leaving me a very small path to walk down, smacking my legs with their soft leaves.
I read once that a Redwood's roots dig only 6 feet deep, but interlock with one another underground, creating a knotted root system strong enough to hold up this thickness of communing trees. New life springs up from this stronghold, gathering sturdiness from those around it.
I sit humbled. And do not want to leave.
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