She’s walked so far down the trail that she can no longer hear the hum of the freeway she left behind. Above, the sky is green with branches, so thick that the sun is a distant memory. She continues on, boots soft and muddy.
She stops at an old redwood tree, its bark shaggy. It’s the kind of tree that feels like it’s been around forever. She places a hand on it’s trunk, waiting for a response. Nothing comes from the tree itself, but the wind rustling through the leaves and the distant birdsong is enough of an answer for her.
Satisfied, she continues on her trek, because even while a tree is not able to speak, the forest can sing.