The Aspiring Archivist

I want to say something, but there is nothing to say.

Walking on an old, forgotten trail, living leaves and branches encroaching from all sides, as though wary of what had once cleared then away.

Approaching the top of a hill, the tight passage opens into a vast expanse of downward sloping trees, bushes, ivy. If one fell here, they would not reach the bottom, but surely they would die anyway.

Such vastness is difficult to comprehend, as enclosed as it is. An uncountable infinity of detail one could never see is beneath.

You would be forgiven for believing you could scale the same vastness you see on the mountains in the distance.