Old growth

It was very much like home. Tall forest on the edge of the mountains, the ground all carpeted with moss and ferns. Mountain peaks disappearing in cloud, mist and glimpses of snow. Moss climbing up the trees, even - eating them, I know. Everywhere there were stumps from the old growth, three paces across, most of them. They were railroad-logged in the early 1900's. This bark I clambered over, these massive trunks still lying fallen, some of them, right out to the whitewater river, taller than a person - it was all one hundred years old.

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