The enveloping canopy of the forest surrounds me like a womb with its fluid and fluttering greenery.
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It filters both the wind and the sunlight, leaving only faint zephyrs and lambent greens to reach through and caress my soul.
Time here under these trees seems to run at a different pace, it is slower and richer than that outside of the forest.
Around me, there is a numinous quality which suggests more the temple than secular and reductionist ideas of the modern forest.
I gaze upon a view that is primal and one that the ancestors of us humans would have been familiar with, as they gazed timorously out through the curtain of trees into the spreading savannah.
This timeless quality and deep well of memory always holds me here, and I am reluctant to return to that faster world that awaits me in the grasslands of modern humanity.
Photo: Pistachia and Wild Olive at the Almodovar. Courtesy of the author.