Wimbledon Common 2019
When you go out into the woods and see the crooked forest..
So silent is the sessile air that every cry and call, through layered shrub and forest fair, might repeat them all
Capturing the feeling of forest rain
These black bush-waters, heavy with crusted boughs, like plumes above dead captains
You ask why I make my home in mountain forest, and I smile, and am silent, even my soul remains quiet
Maybe you are searching among the branches for what only appears in the roots