"Why does it seem so magical?" I ask him "Because that's where God is," he replies.
Peering into the bush I am transported back to my childhood. It's as if the trees themselves try to draw me in, the thin forest floor beckoning me to come play. Dearest one and I step through the invisible shield and at once chatter about where we would build a fort if we were kids again. I find a perfect meditation spot to bring my chair and sit a while. We wonder aloud if you have to have grown up in the trees to appreciate them as an adult or if it's universal to feel them beckoning you into a liminal space. We mutter about people who've wondered why we haven't bulldozed the bush down already to make our field easier to navigate with machinery. As if we are warriors planting our spears into the ground we fiercely state we will never bulldoze it down.
Full of determination and protectiveness we walk out of the bush back out into the sunlight, call the dogs to come, and make our way through the field to the house. We will have to come back and play another day.
