As I wandered by way of the woodland panorama, I could not assist however discover the kaleidoscope of colours that surrounded me. The bushes, tall and majestic, stood like sentinels towards the backdrop of grey clouds, their branches etched towards the sky like delicate pen and ink drawings. Some have been clothed in leaves of deep brown, rustling softly within the light breeze, whereas others wore cloaks of vibrant inexperienced, shimmering like emeralds within the dappled gentle filtering by way of the cover above. Right here and there, flashes of white caught my eye – wispy birch trunks or bursts of frothy flowers – including an air of freshness and vitality to the surroundings. After which, rising majestically above the treetops, have been the blue mountains, their rugged peaks nonetheless capped with remnants of winter snow, glistening like sapphires towards the somber grey of the sky. The air was alive with the scent of wooden smoke and damp earth, wealthy with the promise of life and renewal. As I walked deeper into the woodland, the colours appeared to deepen and intensify – the grey darkening to charcoal, the inexperienced brightening to chartreuse – till I felt as if I used to be shifting by way of a dwelling, respiration tapestry woven from threads of each hue. It was as if I had stumbled right into a painter’s studio, the place the colours themselves have been alive, swirling round me in vibrant, pulsing concord. And on the coronary heart of all of it have been the bushes – steadfast, unchanging guardians of this woodland world – their branches reaching out to enfold me in an embrace each historical and everlasting.
