I see the forest as a tapestry. Each needle and every shadow creating an expansive touchable fabric of the earth. Perhaps there is no better example of a an earthly loom with its loose ends dangling down than the Hoh rainforest. The Sitka pine and western Hemlock showcasing their unwoven ends of green moss that gently sway in the dewy wind. As luck would have it,  each night we would explore the fabrics of this world as we camped here for a time. We learned this captivating forest is said to be the quietest place in the world, I could have guessed it for our ears captured the every drip and drop of condensation on the leaves hitting the tender ground. And for just a day,  we drove through the mountainous region of Hurricane Ridge, emerald green and blue embroidered in fog, its spindles reaching the mist. We took an evening hike overlooking the this scenery, just as a the sun began to turn everything gold, even the marmot belly flopped on the trail had a glow about him. We climbed a trail braided with flowering colors of purple pinks and yellow through rolling hills. And when we decided we were done listening for the birds, and watching the dear in the meadows (is one ever done doing such things) we decided to head back to the Hoh rainforest, with a sun blazing in coral in the rear view mirror. And once our time in Hoh rainforest was coming to an end we took two more weeks to explore the beaches of Olympic; where the ocean pulled a silver thread through stone pockets, pink stitches of tide-polished stars appeared, where the lip of the ocean kissed sea urchins. And every night as we watched the waves lapse from the comfort of our tiny home, a sea otter would appear cracking the shells of crabs, smiling as he did so, in the vast empty blue. And every night we’d watch colors fade from orange to pink hitting the sand with a soft reflection. Nature is generous in this way, where we can walk among the expansive fibers of the earth: each thread touching another, each movement part of an endless weaving.