There’s something about the Redwood Forest….something as compelling, awesome, and overwhelming as the contemplation of the universe.  There you find the giant, stoic ancients who have been forged by time, wind, fire, and maybe by a sadness of what they have witnessed through the centuries.  In their midst is also the untried and untested youth of their species.

My disappointment in the forest was the lack of freedom of movement within it, due by necessity I’m sure, because of tourists.  I, too, was a tourist, but, probably due to ego, I didn’t feel like a tourist, and therefore resented the intrusion of the others and the need they create for fences and warning signs in what feels like a holy place.  I’m sure there were many who came as I, in reverence and respect, but there were those who didn’t.  Those who were noisy and rushed along not looking around after the first few initial glances and oohs and aahs.  They were the, “You’ve seen one redwood, you’ve seen them all, where’s the gift shop” tourists.

I wanted to be able to sit quietly against a giant tree, leaning my back up to it, eyes closed, and see if it would tell me anything, if it would lend me some of its energy and allow me the feeling of it.  I wanted to know the spirit of the ancients and find what I could of myself there.

The gods and goddesses were in attendance.  I was aware of their silent watching as we marched through with our cameras and chatter.  I felt a little ashamed and embarrassed, but maybe they just shook their heads and smiled in understanding at us.  We are, after all, very young.