spiritstuff
We entered a wood of trees so old that the greenery looked out of place. New life wasn't right here, this was a place of ages. We ducked under branches, clambered over lava rock, moved through the dead trees and through the silence. I spoke and regretted the sound. Even whispers were too loud.
So we walked through the days and years and at last emerged from the wood into scrubland, like passing through the exit of a hedge maze, a labyrinth. The trail beckoned yet.
