It’s rained all winter here, days on end of mild and misty grey, and always, the drip – or drum – of rain in the trees. One of the great gifts of living in the temperate rain forest is that even in the grey, there is always green; green in the heavy boughs of cedar, weighted and wet; green in the shaggy moss and bright ground cover; green in the glossy leaves of the arbutus. Even though it’s grey, there is always green.
And then, the sun shines, and the forest comes alive, a thousand shades of verdant green. The sunlight slants between the highest boughs of cedar and fir, and bounces off the sword ferns and salal and Oregon grape; it illuminates the fat carpets of deep green moss and shines through delicate lichens. The muted darkness of the forest is transformed.
And as I revel in this beauty, I think of e e cummings’ words, a perfect prayer for the woods: “i thank You God for most this amazing/ day; for the leaping greenly spirits of trees/ and a blue true dream of sky; and for everything/ which is natural which is infinite which is yes.”