Space Between the Treetops

I write now atop a felled tree, beneath the barren treetops. It’s a different world here in these woods. Fifty shades of umbers, reds, and browns. 

We live amongst the trees, yet we hardly ever find ourselves in this arboreal domain. How often is it that we walk beneath the treetops, in the world where pine timbers gesture toward the sky?

Roads, yards, lawns – they necessitate treelessness. We build these spaces for humans to dwell. But I sit here now in another world, where all around me extends a mosaic of fallen leaves. These woods create a haven of their own where only a drop of sky or twinkle of cloud peeks through.

Vastness can be full just as it is bare. I see that now in these trees that stretch for miles and miles into a haze of lavender and gray. These woods seem so alive even in their stillness. I hear an arboreal discourse even in the quiet.