The forest is messy. Tall beech trees strain towards blue ether, sprinkling sun over undergrowth alive with chanterelle and turkey tail mushrooms, yellow and black salamander lizards, ferns of every shape. Against mossy walls, huge trunks painted with pale lichens sprawl carelessly akimbo. Some have raced downhill on a drunken joyride, taking with them other trees along the way. Sprouting from the matted humus, small saplings much older than they should be sit patiently waiting for their elders to fall and open up a chink of light through which they can rush to matur-ity. They might have to wait ...
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