I enter the forest as an intruder weary with synthetic stress. There is comfort in placing my hand on bark. It pulsates silent strength. Conversation is deep, but not a word is spoken. You do not survive hundreds of years of Canadian extremes without a story to share – for those that wish to listen.
Through my eyes, cedar roots are just as spectacular as the branches they support. That is where the magic lies. The forest whispers songs of endurance, reserved substance and tenacious growth. Acceptance washes over me.
My heart beats with renewed harmony and balance as I align my pace. I return to brushes waiting in my studio, humbled and acknowledge that there is much to learn.