Touch seems to be as essential as sunlight.
Confusion is a word we have invented for an order which is not understood. —Henry Miller
I camped one evening in June in central Oregon, in the Ochoco Mountains east of Prineville, where I was surrounded by my favorite tree, the Ponderosa pine.
Darkness beat me to the campsite; the next morning, a crisp breeze was chasing clouds in an overcast sky when I rolled out of my sleeping bag. How long would the soft, even light last? I hurried to set up my tripod and camera, made sure I had shoes on, then wandered through the forest to visit with the trees.
It was a good morning for listening. As I moved the tripod from one tree to the next, each Ponderosa told a unique, individual story. I took notes with the camera for two hours, until the sun broke free of clouds and it was time to go.
I didn’t have time to hear their stories to the end, but I was entertained by the details they shared, and I’ll continue our conversations when I drive through those mountains again.
How dear the woods are! You beautiful trees! I love every one of you as a friend. —Lucy Maud Montgomery, Anne of Avonlea