Sun showers mist bright rainbows cross the heavens. Smell the dark loam, rich and blanketed in a century of cast off needles. Hoary giants stand sentry. Broad spans encrusted with moss send imploring hands to worry the sky. Anchoring roots crawl across the earth grasping deeply lest ancient Titans are tempted to scale the cloud enshrouded foothills to seek the forbidden heights. Peers of my ancestors, the Fates have waited long to cut your thread.
Quiet darkness lies beneath. There is no today or tomorrow here, only this timeless silent spell. A lattice of branches, an interlocking maze that holds the storm now past, grudgingly bares secret slivers of a blue rain swept expanse.
Small beneath the sheltering boughs, the sweet sting of paths secret and past imbues the senses. Face upturned to watch the rush of tears that falls into outstretched arms.