Ancient trees scrape the heavens hued an eerie green. Serene silence holds each echo with volume as mist coils around the stalks void of bark, a lustrous white like hardened silk. Though the space between each tree is extensive, a constant canopy of limbs web the sky to form a labyrinth. Moss carpets the ground in the absence of grass, cuts over the rocks that jut craggily from the earth's face, and drapes from the outstretched limbs. A lone spring weaves through the land, an everlasting current of cold water trickling over the rocky bottom three inches below, the song of it's liquor travel the solitary noise provided by nature.

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