God callers, world protectors, are these proud guardians before you. I laid my grief here once and refilled my joy. I fell enchanted, rooted to the spot. The fae folk even crept out from amongst the fern to witness my wonder, not a word passed.
Sit here for a while, in this space of ancient tales and worshipped souls which has found you, as you venture on these trails of hidden magic and quiet mystery, under faint creaks of sheltering branches and moss-soft carpet underfoot.
I would be here with you if I could, but my cell of the tiniest cells has me locked tight in a tower with no exit, and the old and twisting vines block me from your view. Until then, be my eyes, my heart, and my spirit.
Be wildened by the stories of these woods. Be freed by the tinkle bell of the simple river, the crisp of fresh leaves and the craw of the distant hawk. Be as shaped as I, by these most sacred of sequoias, and held by the gentle wind above.
