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Heart Of The Forest

Damnation Creek Trail, Redwoods NP, California. Sunrise finds me deep in the redwoods, at the top of the mountain, following a trail that will descend to the sea. A slight breeze pressed the fog against the forest that drops down to the cliffs, it's damp responsible for the lushness all around me. Surrounded, awed by the size of everything, I stop to satisfy my eyes, 360 degrees. I'm not sure if where I stand is the heart of the forest, but it's close enough. The pulse I feel here is slower than my own's effort, older than I'll ever be. The trees are hundreds--some thousands--of years old, and over time, God has visited hurt here: storms, fire, disease, even mankind. He tests the center of everything, all the time. And yet, somehow, it all still stands. In the quiet, I wonder how many times a heart can break before it makes no sound.

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©Ray Palmer no usage without written permissions
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Damnation Creek Trail, Redwoods NP, California. Sunrise finds me deep in the redwoods, at the top of the mountain, following a trail that will descend to the sea. A slight breeze pressed the fog against the forest that drops down to the cliffs, it's damp responsible for the lushness all around me. Surrounded, awed by the size of everything, I stop to satisfy my eyes, 360 degrees. I'm not sure if where I stand is the heart of the forest, but it's close enough. The pulse I feel here is slower than my own's effort, older than I'll ever be. The trees are hundreds--some thousands--of years old, and over time, God has visited hurt here: storms, fire, disease, even mankind. He tests the center of everything, all the time. And yet, somehow, it all still stands. In the quiet, I wonder how many times a heart can break before it makes no sound.
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