Rain drops hang off long slender needles, made brilliant green by droplets no longer clinging to cloud.
The earth beneath the living statues is soft and covered in a blanket of brown needles.
Thousands, millions, the blanket has no pattern to the eye, to the giver they tell of history, of storms and snow, of wind and sun, passing days and months, years and generations.
The scent that rises from the moist blanket mingles with living needles and bark. The fragrance is beyond description but not experience.
Breathe deeply and fill your soul with peace and tranquility as almost blinding rays of sunlight reach you through branch, limb and needle.
Warmth escapes from hidden rooms beneath the blanket as the sun heats the earth.
The blanket beckons your wearied body, go ahead, multitudes of creatures have already felt the comfort.
The blanket is thick and soft, your hand presses down and the blanket gives to your desire.
Lay back and sense the blanket give and move to your weariness.
The scent, the warmth, the moisture, they approach and beckon to lay with you.
Soon you are wrapped in comfort that fills your very soul, yea, every cell.
From your repose, looking up, the living statues reach into and then become part of the heavens.
Sleep overtakes and you dream of heaven, a land of pines, smells, and sweet comfort.
