Happened to venture forth on a Trail unseen...
Old Growth Forest well over an Hundred years,
Since last a Blade of Cutting Timber known.
A lingering dampness on the ground,
Though not for a few days a rain had fallen,
Yet moisture locked in place by fallen leaves of
Another Season's passing.
Harvest has taken its toll,
Though not by chainsaws of take down.
It has been "Mother Nature," the Master Logger.
The scent in the air,
Man "if only" one could package the fragrance
A scent so strong and deep
Born of years of decay
In a cycle of growth and ruin.
A scent so exhilarating
A Woodsy, musky, alive to death scent.