Song of the Forest Print

Song of the Forest Print8x10 print in 11x14 double mat. By Grant Pecoff. It was the middle of summer, and I was out on a trail with friends. The path was unusually crowdedpeople from all over the world drawn into the forest. Part of me was heartened by it, witnessing so many choosing to spend their time immersed in nature. Whether we realize it or not, something in us longs for the wild. Still, that longing in me soon shiftedI needed to hear the forest itself, not the voices

8x10 print in 11x14 double mat.

By Grant Pecoff. 

It was the middle of summer, and I was out on a trail with friends. The path was unusually crowded—people from all over the world drawn into the forest. Part of me was heartened by it, witnessing so many choosing to spend their time immersed in nature. Whether we realize it or not, something in us longs for the wild. Still, that longing in me soon shifted—I needed to hear the forest itself, not the voices of people.

We slipped off onto a side trail in search of solitude. With each step, the noise of humanity faded, replaced by the symphony of the forest—the hush of leaves in motion, birdsong like scattered notes on the breeze, the wind weaving through branches like a breath through a flute. Crows called out across the canopy. Water murmured in a distant stream. Trees creaked, rubbed, spoke in wooden tongues. I heard my own breath, steady and grounding, as my feet pressed the earth.

Then we found it—a grove of towering trees, their trunks rising like pillars of a cathedral. Behind them, a clearing opened to a ravine, and from somewhere far below came the low, sacred hum of a waterfall. I tilted my face upward. Sunlight pierced the canopy, turning the leaves into panes of glowing green-gold glass. We sat there for a while, just listening. Grateful. Full. Recharged. Like we found a gas station for the soul.