As I stood on the fringe of the woodland panorama, I could not assist however be struck by the kaleidoscope of colours that danced earlier than my eyes. The grey trunks of historic timber rose majestically from the earth, their gnarled branches stretching in the direction of the sky like nature’s personal cathedral. Amidst their steadfast presence, bursts of blackberry bushes added depth and thriller, their darkish leaves glistening with dew-kissed promise. In the meantime, the rustle of brown leaves underfoot served as a mild reminder of seasons previous, whispers of autumnal hues that lingered lengthy after winter’s chill had begun to thaw. And but, it was the verdant greenery that really stole the present – emerald ferns unfurling delicate fronds, saplings bursting forth with irrepressible vitality, and towering canopies filtering daylight into dappled patterns that appeared nearly divine. However wait, what was that flash of snowy whiteness peeking out from behind a veil of foliage? A hidden waterfall, maybe? Or merely the wispy tendrils of cloud drifting lazily throughout an cerulean sky that appeared to reflect the sensible blue hue of distant mountains rising up on the horizon – those self same mountains whose rugged peaks had given start to those woodland landscapes in all their glory. As I breathed in deeply, the scent of damp earth and wooden smoke mingling on my tongue, I felt as if I had stumbled into an Impressionist portray come to life – Monet meets Mom Nature, with brushstrokes daring sufficient to rival the grandest of masterpieces. And I used to be however a humble pilgrim, awestruck by the sheer majesty of all of it.
