The forest, with its ceaseless syncopation of generation and decomposition that composes the pulse-beat of total aliveness. The forest, with its colossal trees that have been part-dead since their saplinghood centuries ago and are at the same time potentially immortal. I have been thinking about growth and decay while walking long bundled hours in an old-growth forest. This is where the “blind optimism” of a tree is helpful - there is consolation in trusting the quiet workings of chemistry and the primal instinct for orienting to the light. We don’t always know what needs to be shed, or what the optimal direction of growth is. I have been thinking about growth and decay, the interplay between the two, the way all growth requires regeneration, which in turn requires a shedding, a composting, a reconstituting of old material. I have been thinking a great deal about growth - what it means, what it asks of us, how it feels when unforced but organic.
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