Impossible to photograph the entire length of a tree’s tallness in a Redwood Forest. There is no vantage point from which to take in the details of each tree’s skin, branches, fingers, moods.
The palpable energy of the forest, yet quiet and serene, still almost, the silence interrupted only by hushed voices of visitors and the sound of their shoes on the dusty trail.
Each ‘Fairy Circle’ of related trees, each giant Clover grove pulling me farther and farther outside of myself.
The sky bright, the air cool at the floor of the forest. Looking upward toward the sky, each view different, as though the trees conspired to make paint the sky together.
The forest floor covered in giant clover and the remains of fallen giants. Some photos feel painterly – the brushstrokes flatten out and the trunks of the redwoods feel washed with color and very much alive, as though they stand on feet, or hooves, or some otherworldly type of appendage.
Some ancient trees nearly 1,800 years old. The oldest living Redwood tree in the United States, the Warren Harding Tree, is 3,200 years old, and lives in the Sierra Nevadas.
The forest whispers, ‘Enjoy me. Let me live in peace.’
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