The Cathedral of Trees

“Some places make the human being smaller in exactly the right way.

Ancient old-growth cedars rise in British Columbia. Shafts of golden light fall through the canopy the way light falls through stained glass. There is no altar, but the room is a cathedral.

We do not need to believe in anything specific to feel this. We only need to be quiet long enough for the forest to do what it does — remind us that something has been standing here for a thousand years, and that the small worries we walked in with are, from the tree’s perspective, an evening breeze.

This photograph isn’t about a forest.

It’s about the parts of you that get returned to you when you go somewhere old enough to hold you.

Where on this earth does your nervous system already know how to exhale — and when did you last let it?”