|Smith River, California|
Indulge me, just for a moment, and imagine that the great trees possess some vague sentience --some retained memory passed on through sequoia generations.
|"Pacific Madrona" in America; in Canada "Arbutis"|
I love that smooth red-orange skin!
|At a cat park near Cave Junction. I didn't dig the place. Bad vibes for the cats and from the hosts.|
|Restuarante mexicano en Jacksonville|
Lentitud del servicio, pero comida deliciosa
|This is the life|
But now, for a time anyway, the apes have halted their slaughter. Rather than reaping the trees, they've taken to wandering among the giant roots. They putter around in their noisy, stinky contraptions or lope on their hind legs, swinging their arms harmlessly. And they peer up toward the tops of the great trees or place their hands on the vast boles and grow solemn and quiet.
It all happened so fast. Where does it go from here? Will the apes finish off the last of the great sequoias before they follow the giant sloths and the saber-toothed tigers and the three-toed horses into oblivion? Or will they become nurturers and protectors?
Crazy, eh? No answers for those questions. Trees and apes must each look to their respective deities.