Today we took a walk in the redwoods. The ancient grove was silent. A soft fog drifted around the giants. Near the earth, moss covered roots and branches reached out at all angles while above, thick, dark, bark covered trunks rose straight and strong, up, up, up, out of sight.
Such stillness. Not a bird nor a squirrel was to be seen.
Beams of sunlight shone through the mist, lighting patches of the forest floor.
Under the graceful ferns, at the roots of the mighty trees, there were caves, doorways, openings. Who enters there, I wondered, when there is no one in the woods to see?