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 . . .
|The folly of the woods.|