Pinus sylvestris

in my dreams i am in a deep wood of scots pines; an ancient presence of silver and orange. dim, soft autumnal light gently pats down the undergrowth below my feet and the hidden loam sleeves over a tangle of roots. there is a silence broken by the faint call of the robin and the southward arrows of geese somewhere above the canopy. i am digging into the cold earth in search of something, and when my spade finally hits something solid -- i wake.

Another great tree, moss and lichen rarely grow on them so they always look pristine