One pleasant spring evening we took a little stroll up into the foot hills. There is so much beauty in the wild place, the places that are seemingly barren in its browns and grays with a smattering of dusty greens. The quiet of the wild wood, thousands of years of secrets whispering through the wise old branches and evergreen leaves.  If you walk quietly they will not mind your presence and sing softly their songs, if your footfall is gentle the spell will stay unbroken and you can be a part of the age old sonnets of the trees.