Some forests are different.
To step into them is to be suspended in time.
These are the magical forests.
They breath, they watch, they collect stories and somehow store history which they share with who is willing to listen and watch.
They aren’t without time, but the one used is more organic than human time.
Here the mechanical movement of hands on the clock face is irrelevant.
The scale by which time is measured is the progression of light.
No hour is quite like the one before or the one following.
Time here is physical, a flowing around and teasing of the senses.
No tangible ticking or linear path.
There is purity in these forests that does not exist elsewhere.
In centuries of existence the changes are constant.
They are determined by the light.
