That dappled light. Those warm rays riding the cool whispering wind. The dry oak leaves move and touch as the wind gusts. Everything in concert stimulates the senses. It’s a drug that that only requires being present in the moment. It seems as if those trees are calling me closer. Up there around the bend. That oak that appears to be turning slightly orange. There’s a path between the stiffening grass. The gusts of wind make it more pronounced - as if someone had been there before. That little path will take you to the ancient oak grove. To the enchanted garden where the wind talks and ground feels alive.

This collection of flowers was captured after many trips to this hidden grove.