Their bodies are gnarled and gray. Spanning out like the fingers of an outstretched hand their branches hold up crowns of fiery orange leaves while their roots, in some instances, surface above ground like breached whales.
The dank earth is obscured by a blanket of titian mirroring the canopy above. The color is startling and vivid, lending life to the ancient trees pocketed with dark cavities like open mouths filled with gauzy spiders webs.
A perfect morning light filters down through the florid plafond, caressing every bough, sparkling off of every arachnid spun thread, conspiring with these elements to perfect beauty, inspire awe, and make hearts peaceful. An assembly of monarch butterflies flutters delicately near a spiders meandering gossamer weave. It is positioned loftily between two high branches, one of which is bent like a crooked elbow. On another gray limb two brown squirrels play, barely visible behind the whitish veil of cobwebs.
The hush about the place in miraculously undisturbed by the creatures dwelling here. Their movements only feed the quiet with their rustle. Everything is drawn in like a stilled breath.