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The ancient forest in France is shown here in deep winter. Its mystical trees stripped bare of their illustrious leaves. It’s a site I once visited in 2003, and the experience is one that’s hard to forget and not to be inspired by. The winding trunks of the tress, hunks of twisted bark, a sea of roots.
But what else do we see, or feel? What are these apparitions? Spirits of those who passed through her over the centuries? Or spirits of the trees themselves?