In the Quiet of the Trees

I live in rolling hills that were once mountains, laid down with age to become dwindling and gentle. The valleys filled with water, deep and cold, as the glaciers receded, and left behind water that reflected the sky; giant mirrors placed on the ground.

When summer storms and humid air roll through, the tops of the hills often slip into clouds, much like they do in autumn, and I often find myself on days such as this traipsing through mud and standing water alone amongst the trees.

I lo...