The cold winter forest sit under its mantle of snow.
All round the silence is felt, deep and gentle.
Overlaying this profundity is the occasional punctuation of bird life.
Startling in its power, the staccato croak of a raven splits the air.
This gutteral rendering echoes from the Alp.
High in the canopy a woodpecker beats it’s fitful rythm. Hollow casket of tree magnifying sounds.
At the spruces foot, the jetsam of lichen is strewn like silvan confetti.
Further in, a nuthatch picks at the base of a tree, no doubt opening a cached acorn, proof against the iron bite of February cold.
Each being sits within its niche, each a part of a glorious web of livingness.
The invisible threads of connection seem to vibrate through this forest.
Here, all is as it should be, a balance of life.
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Photo courtesy of the author.