Shrouded in mists, the woods after the rain. It smells of mushrooms and heavy black soil, of wet bark. Ferns bejewelled with raindrops brushing against my legs. Drip-drop, drip-drop from the trees, strands of wet hair sticking to my brow.
Along the soggy paths I search for twigs of interesting shapes and textures. Dry and brittle leaves remind me of the fleeting nature of life. Barely visible through the dense foliage is a bird of prey sailing through the sky without ever flapping its wings. This is trust.