The earth is old. Monolithic in nature. Purely abandoned. Invitingly desolate. Grey and bold. A giant’s playground. Steadfast and solid. Too threatening to be challenged.
A graveyard for trees. White with age. Reaching out as if stretching for survival. Their last breath howling with the wind as life evaporates from their twisted limbs.
An abundance of life. With trickling water and prehistoric moss. Cold and hot. Ice and fire. Fluffy shapes moving in the foliage. Soft and fearless. Cheekily untouchable.
A cathedral of ferns high above. A steady whisper through the overhang. It’s ghostly voice meandering around the mossy trunks then silenced by the warmth of sun rays.
And here he is the hawk that floats upon the breeze, looking down in condescension. And the snake that slithers lazily on his way. Only the possums can high five each other in brazen delight as they rustle for their midnight snack.
A rushing torrent over boulders. Passing by never noticing. Never reaching it’s destination. Flowing forth forever. To a place unseen and untamed.