As I stood on the fringe of the woodlandscapes, I used to be struck by the kaleidoscope of colours that danced earlier than my eyes. The grey trunks of historic bushes rose like sentinels from the earth, their gnarled branches stretching in the direction of the sky like nature’s personal cathedral. The black silhouettes of spruce and fir stood sentinel towards the colourful hues of autumn, their darkish majesty punctuating the riotous tapestry of gold, orange, and crimson leaves. In the meantime, the brown earthy scent of fallen leaves wafted up on the breeze, mingling with the candy perfume of inexperienced saplings bursting forth with new life. Amidst this riotous palette, flashes of white caught my eye – wispy clouds drifting lazily throughout the sky, or maybe the occasional birch tree standing tall amidst its darker brethren.
As I wandered deeper into these woodlandscapes, my gaze started to elevate in the direction of the distant blue mountains that rose on the horizon. Their rugged peaks appeared to shimmer within the fading mild of day, beckoning me in the direction of secrets and techniques hidden past the treeline. And but, whilst my coronary heart yearned in the direction of these distant heights, my toes remained rooted amidst the rustling leaves and snapping twigs of the forest flooring. For on this woodlandscapes, the place grey gave method to black gave method to brown gave method to inexperienced, I had stumbled upon one thing way more valuable than any mountain vista – a world alive with colour, texture, and scent; a world that whispered secrets and techniques of life, demise, and rebirth on each breeze that stirred. In these woodlandscapes, I had discovered solace; I had discovered house.
