To the Pines

The forest was thick with the deliciously dizzying pine smell fresh in the air after the night rain. We trod quietly, watched by the odd grazing sheep or pig who were happy to call the pine needle covered floors their home. Trees twenty times the height of us had blown down in the storms, their roots bare and facing skywards suddenly showing how the ancient gentle giants of the forest could so easily be picked up like matchsticks. The Sun shone in intervals warming our backs and sending funny tingles down our spines, it felt strange to feel it on our skin again after so long. We walked homewards and through a graveyard on the corner of the woodland where the newest headstone shone brightly and it made us realise; like the trees, we all share the same ground and it’s kind of wonderful in a funny way.