These trees gleam with strangeness... I am no longer at home. The insight strikes me, I horripilate, my skin goes cold and sensitive. I let go a heavy breath, a sigh, a short smile. I look up – God smiles too. My steps are heavier than yesterday and the air feels denser. Colder, damper. I chip more and more in order to take breaths and it becomes more frightening with each and every one, as if I am ascendant to some great and mountainous plateau. The air filters through the grossness of my palate and becomes distilled of its natural freshness; it is alchemized to green and pungent vapor. A cloud of some black, sullied neon forms in the strained breathings of exhaled air and the hairs on my arm bristle in the morning cold. The ground is frozen in wreaths of hoarfrost and the sudden, strange drop of temperature from yesterday is baffling to my senses, and in the wake of this thought I shiver in body and mind. There is an uncanny atmosphere, an ambiance of natural Nordic melancholy convolving these woodlands now, a dismal fogginess, a foreboding imminence startling and unsettling, and the landscapes have shifted accordingly, along the lines of these, my eerie impressions. The terrain is churlish now – hundreds of robust roots, stumpy and sinuous and like serpents fleeing a scolding earth penetrate the frost-bitten soil and reach like murky antennas towards a bitter sky exploded with a matted, lifeless, sullen coloring...
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