Vague recollections of the vast forest extending from a cousin’s backyard. Thick tree trunks lay dead and mossy on the ground, as high as my chest it seemed. Massive ferns among the cedars.
We would run through it, climb, see what we could find and always hope to see some animal or other but we never did. They’d be wiser than to be anywhere near the noisemakers, after all.
A thousand shades of emerald and jade.
No other forest I’ve been to has ever been that green.
I remember how to get there but I don’t dare try. Some things are best left hanging in the perfect suspension of memory and dreams, especially when the likelihood of their continued existence is almost nil.