We are not walking on clouds. There are treetops over our heads. There are fans of giant ferns below us. We are taking a stroll in mid-air, between behemoths of trees.
We are walking in the redwoods forest, many metres above the forest floor. We are suspended in space, and we are tempted to imagine, in time as well.
Old souls.
These towering redwoods have been alive for over a century; they were originally planted in the early 1900s, here in the Whakarewarewa Forest, one of the oldest forests in New Zealand.
Not native then. Lost souls.
Californian Redwoods, these are. Exotic but thriving well here in their adopted home. It’s a story often told; you can be an immigrant and excel in strange lands, and sooner or later, those lands cease to be strange but are more home than where you came from.
If only every land was as welcoming.