The forest hollow

If ever there would be a heaven it could not help but be here with me, where, in the morning mists of fog, rolling soft and white and clean, brimming to the full the ragged mountain hollows, sweeping clear the daily dust from oak, madrone and maple, leaving in its silent wake a cleansing bath of dew, I am witness to the forest - as it stands, untouched by Time, forever new.