The sweet smell of moss fills the air. In the distance the cry of a crow.
The mist unveils its cold perfume into the night. My skin shivers a little.
Through the crack of the tree distant stars twinkle bright. night is pregnant with mystery.
I am so small in this cathedral of woods, yet my senses expand to touch this ethereal presence.
More vast than this body. Forgotten archetypes sing their song of delight and earth, like little spirits dancing.
The gods are here, silent, listening to this primeval sound. Wind, earth, stone and tree.