Even after they have all been cut down for to fit our needs,
the young saplings of the beech forest bud up, and seeking out the light, they stretch ever upward to once again take the shape of a forest.
The snow that leaves behind its figure. The smell of moisture in the air.
The otherworldly white mist that flits about, enveloping our feet, melts softly away our way of looking at the world that induces us to ask,
“Where does it start, and where does it end? ”
And drifting seamlessly about the border that separates earth and sky, it made the world a simple place.