But the point is well taken. There is something absolutely wonderful to hear the softest of rustles as the wind moves through a deodar forest.
Being with trees humbles you.
As you walk through these gentle giants you think about all those who have walked the trail before you. The gnarled oaks with their old scraggly hands make you realise how new you are - and what the lives of the people before you were like.
Then there is the sheer joy of breathing in air which is pungent with the scents of leaves and soil - filling your lungs with Himalayan coolness.
Sheba and I did a prayer walk earlier today and it was lovely to lift up the issues of our lives to God - and so many of our dear friends who are walking through very hard times - while all around us the beauty of creation filled our hearts with wonder.
What sheer joy to see the variety of species in the late afternoon sun - like here just above Fairy Glen. Himalayan Maples with Rhodhadendron and Oaks grown up under a cover of Deodar - with the odd fir and blue pine mixed in.
As one poet has put it:
I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.
A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the sweet earth's flowing breast;
A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;
A tree that may in summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;
Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.
Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.
- Joyce Kilmer (1886-1918)