It was the middle of winter, a blanket of clouds hovered above the trees, it was cold enough to see my breath, precipitation fluctuated between a heavy mist and a light sprinkle, the ground was muddy in some areas, and the trees were covered in bright green moss. It’s like a party is happening on those bare branches.

I went searching for a place to hike along the coast and found myself in a little state park with several trails that had different look-out points over the pacific.

I opened my eyes and was surrounded by deep red shades of mahogany and rust, browns resembling milk chocolate and cinnamon, and hints of black brushed in long upward strokes along the trunks.

Humans may have built the road, but it is very clear that the forest owns this space and the humans are only visiting.