I’m in the forest.
I’m standing alone in the redwoods of Marin County. The trees are impossibly tall, a description that feels both lazy and precise.
They are as grand as they are majestic, as towering as they are brutish, and quietly elegant as they are rooted in the heart of this here jungle.
Language fails here. Superlatives like "immense, ancient, stately, mysterious, powerful" abound, yet they are mere linguistic scaffolding for an experience that defies easy assimilation.1 From a seed no larger than a tomato's, the coast redwood (Sequoia sempervirens) can ascend to heights of over 367 feet, the equivalent of a 35-story skyscraper, a scale designed to arouse humility.1... (read 4951 more words →)
