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I am UmberDove.

And by that, I mean an artist.  One who hears stories in the wind, who paints because it is what her soul tells her to do, who smiths because the muse moves through her fingertips, who loves nothing more than the promise of an unexplored trail, the sound of the ocean in her ears, and scent of a serious cup of coffee.

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Rejunvinated by Redwoods

UmberDove



With a sigh, I am home. My soul feels full, replenished, but a little saddened by leaving the giant trees which surely house my heart. Because I feel a short of words to tell you about my trip, I will leave a list I wrote one day while camping.



June 19th 2008
Today I...

Listened to the wind ruffling the rhododendrons (and thought of Devon). Thought there is nothing more truthful than a great Redwood. Saw the newest growth of a swordfern, all tiny fingers, kinked and uncurling. Loved the word "opportunist" when applied to a Steller's Jay (who knew they made so many different calls?). Realized how much I was like a Redwood Sorrel, bright and shining in the shade, full of color and stimulation, retreating, folding up when the sun's rays beat down too severely. Felt the welcome of the trees, an embracing of kinship. Felt the warning of the trees, where I did not belong. Counted four footbridges, all rustic. Conversed with a rabbit, greeted a chipmunk, startled a quail, respected a raven.