Trees are so much better than people. They don’t lie. They don’t pretend to be something they’re not. They look like trees. They act like trees. They are trees.
Trees don’t judge you. And they don’t let anyone tell them what to do. Each tree works for itself. It plants roots deep into the ground and spends its whole life reaching for the sky, growing as high as it possibly can.
And no matter where they’re planted, they don’t give up without a fight. They try desperately to touch the heavens. Of course they’ll never get there, but that doesn’t stop them from trying. It’s like they know there is something up there that will make it all worth it.
I look down at my boots, treading over the fallen leaves and branches. Brown and drenched in mud. Squishing and sucking noises made with every forward step.
A bird chirps overhead, in a musical trill. The answer is almost audible some yards away.
The crisp air burns in my lungs, and I look up at the sky.
Hiking is the best way to clear your head. The mountain doesn’t shun you, but it still holds to its standards. You have to put in the work if you want to conquer it.
I try to come here as much as I can. Let my hand hang out to the side to brush against the lower foliage. Here I can be by myself. I can feel the tension flood out of me.
The world is so harsh. So loud.
Here it is quiet. Only the earth can be heard. Whispers in the trees.