As I entered the pearly gates of the forest, the trees began to whisper. Long Droplet soaked grass folded underfoot, each blade bending to my will; branches hung low, brushed my wavy fringe back with delicate, finger-length leaves; the trunks, packed so closely together, surrounded me in a warm embrace, their rough barks brushing my t-shirt. No one tree stood rigidly straight, but tilted and wove around others, connecting each saplings with its elder through an intricate community of browns and leafy greens. At the centre of the community stood a grove, sprouting Azaleas and Bush Poppies, their pink and yellow hues filling the surrounding area with a childlike vibrant innocence. In that grove, occupying most of its space was the most beautiful tree I had ever seen. The delicate intricacy of winding branches formed a welcoming, nest-like opening in the middle, which is where I would most likely later place my bag of specimen jars and magnifying glass. In all its glory the tree stood, although proud and stern-looking there was an air of importance, of rich history if you will which it embodied. Rather than seeming tough and mean, it embodied warmth, reliability, intelligence. It was at that moment, as I stood in awe and wonder that I promised myself and all that I knew was real that I would protect this tree. From embedded roots, to high above the sky; from right here before me to all around the forest; the community in which it was kept, the sanctuary I had entered, that I knew I would treasure its secrets, protect it from the worlds malice and so long as I lived, would keep it from harm.