Go where you can feel the forest breathing and inhale the understanding beyond words.
We climb the banks where the stream has rounded every rock to lapidary softness. We admire every plant for its health, achieved not by some gardener's fertilizer but by the sheer perfection of being in ideal surroundings. We can't help but notice the old trees. They are large, their branches twisting and spreading to catch the light perfectly, their canopies spreading to the sun and their roots firm in the trees' own shade.
The trees are silent and undeniably present. No other thing in the entire universe can take the place of a tree, and the way that it's rooted is perfectly suited to its location. The legends say that these old trees have consciousness and wisdom. We can learn from that. Behind is the whole of a forested ridge. Where the trunks are bare and the canopy thick, the shadows are as black as night and the silence is overwhelming. The sun is fierce, fiery, burning, but the millions of leaves absorb the blaze and leave only shadow below. They transform violent heat into violent peace.
In the forest, the trees may rustle with the breeze, but they make no words. We may see the outlines of the branches on the sky, but they form no image. the flowers may exude sweet scents, but they compound no perfume.
The old trees do nothing we would do. They are completely what they are, without the slightest veneer of the human, and yet they are supreme in the forest.