I think it’s really quite bold, you know, the way the woods behave in the summer. As if they never knew there was such a thing as the Winter. As if they have all the time in the world in which to lazily meander about. And how they flaunt themselves? So teasingly? As if to say, “Ha! You cannot touch me! I am immortal!”
But you and I both know that is not the case. We know that the summer woods are quite
touchable, indeed, and the time will come when they are laid to waste once
again. The time will come when they are
beaten and bludgeoned once again. The
time will come when they will expire, yet again, in complete ruin and
destruction. But, good golly, you have
to admire their spunk!
And there is, quite naggingly, the real question of immortality as they do
have that habit of regeneration . . .
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| The folly of the woods. |
