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A forest calls for a different kind of noticing; attending to patterns of light and shadow dancing across leaves, a secret language written in lines of seeds like braille, and the gentle unfurling of an edge catching the strength of the sun from above.

There are patterns here, deep ones, that have been playing in the margins of meaning far longer than I have been seeking them out.

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Everything is different in the forest. The air is clear, unfiltered. The sound is soft, warm. The light is sharp in places, absent in others. We hear sounds like a baby’s cry; catbirds moving unseen. Everywhere is life, shadows across the path. Even the trees seem to move, wrapping around each other in a timeless embrace.

Every time I’m here, I’m home…

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