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 historical timber rose majestically in the direction of the sky, their gnarled branches twisted with age, whereas their leaves shimmered like emeralds within the dappled mild filtering via the cover above. The black silhouettes of sentinel timber stood guard, their darkish limbs etched in opposition to the colourful tapestry of greens that surrounded me – moss-covered boulders, ferns unfurling from hidden crevices, and wildflowers of each hue bursting forth in joyous abandon. Amidst this verdant splendor, flashes of white caught my eye – wispy clouds drifting lazily throughout the sky, or maybe the fragile petals of some uncommon bloom peeking shyly from its hiding place among the many underbrush. After which, as I gazed deeper into the guts of those woodlandscapes, I started to discern the delicate nuances that exposed their secrets and techniques – the smooth blues of distant mountains rising on the horizon, beckoning me in the direction of unknown vistas; the rustling whispers of leaves because the breeze caressed them, releasing historical tales of seasons previous; and the wealthy browns of fallen wooden, worn clean by numerous winters’ snows and summers’ rains. On this symphony of colour and texture, I felt myself changing into one with the land itself, attuned to rhythms each timeless and everlasting. As I breathed deeply, letting the essence of this enchanted realm seep deep inside me, I knew that I might carry the reminiscence of this second perpetually, etched indelibly upon my soul just like the intricate patterns woven via the material of those wondrous grayblackbrownwhitetreesbluemountainswoodlandscapes.
