Trees are said to be the silent sentinels of the Earth and time, silently witnessing and recording the historical events of the land and its inhabitants. The very cores of these organisms contain within them the history of water, air, fire, and dirt. Even in death, they carry the scars of disaster and change.

We read in the trees the psychological distress of our own skin and bone. The body breathes in and releases it’s memories and thoughts. Breathe in. Breathe out. This Woods Remembers is the nightmare woods of my childhood in the land that I immigrated from, where entire mountains are cut down to make golf courses. And it is also the woods of a mythical promised land of the Purple Mountains.

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