There are few things as beautiful as dappled sunlight meandering down through a grove of trees.
Even on the hottest, brightest, summer days an overhead canopy of old trees makes for shade and comfort.
The air is still and hot and innervated with the sounds of cicadas desperately trying to find their mate before they die, too soon. Their song is desperate – they have waited for over a decade in the dark, hard ground and now have only days in the sun. Their abandoned skins, dry and hard on the barks of trees, their gray blue dead bodies, spent, line the concrete paths.
Everyone has a grove of trees that brings back some sort of memory – you should revisit it and walk around. It looks different… the trees grow slowly, but they grow, the weeds are trimmed in a changing shape – like a slow wave. But it also looks the same, as all shaded groves of trees look the same.
I love taking a rest, lying down and looking up through the trees at the sun peeking through from above.