A thick haze of tiny green leaves covers the ground, interspersed by pine tree columns, dark and perfectly straight. Their branching arches draw across the sky, mixing coniferous needles with the deciduous green canopy. The evening sun has long been hidden by the densely forested horizon, but the warmth from the sky casts the path in comforting gold, softened by a deepening nightward blue of oncoming darkness.

Three well worn trails converge upon this single point, comfortably wide and easily visible from the surrounding green growth. Years of footsteps wore the decomposing leaves into the earth until it formed a shallow well for future hikers. A layer of pine needles, toasted slowly under the summer sun, provides a wafting spicy perfume in the air with each muffled step.

It is a quiet place. Birds hold private conversations. Water trickles somewhere nearby. Fallen trees become exhibits of history in this natural museum. Flowers bloom in splendid color and scent upon bushes and vines.

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