It almost felt sacrilegious to Rex, Rose, and myself, to be driving a car along the winding, narrow road that led us to the parking lot at the entrance to several hiking trails in Armstrong Woods in California redwood country. In the hushed darkness of the old growth forest, machines seemed the antithesis to the stately, ancient trees, many being two thousand years old - some even older. Rex parked the car in the appropriate place and we all stepped out onto a dry, dirt trail that pulled us deeper into the hills.

The air was redolent with evergreen scent, blown through the sunlit branches by coastal winds. On the forest floor, all lay still. Only the lacy tips of the canopy swayed. The wooded sanctuary remained silent, save for the occasional voices of humans, or birds, and the wind. Our ears quickly adjusted to a lack of intruding sounds from freeways, and machines. I contemplated what it would be like to live in such a place for two thousand years, never moving, with feet rooted deep in the earth, absorbing impressions of the environment through underground rivers, rocky strata, endless changes of seasons, and the rapidly shifting wildlife that continually sprang up and receded. What wisdom would be amassed through staying in one place, by living a single lifetime as the redwoods do?

The path headed up. Coming into a dry, stony creek bed, we paused to listen to the silence. Black-winged butterflies with yellow and red markings glided and swooped through the air of a miniature canyon. Rose stood almost motionless, sunlight streaming over her body. Raising and lowering her hands, she mirrored the butterfly wings as they stilled themselves between flight. I felt my heart come into synchronicity with the rise and fall of their wings, and with Rose's hands. A calm came over me to slow, slow, slow myself, and ground to the earth. In the deepening quite, one butterfly cut a path from the bush next to Rose, banking towards the dry creek's riverstones. A thrumming whisper made an impression in my hearing, yet I did not realize what it was until Rose softly cried out, "Did you hear the sound of the butterfly wings?"

Before leaving the sanctuary, at the entrance to the path, one tree drew us closer. We rested our palms upon it's deep and craggy skin, tenderly touching sections of fire-charred bark, and felt a power surging up its shaft, the tree's marrow, and inner core. Rose and I lingered awhile with the ancient one - my friend on one side, and I on the other, not seeing each other because the trunk was so large. Love spilled out from my heart into the tree, just for the experience of being with it, and of the gift of feeling its energy flow.

Unbeknownst to either of us, the redwood had heard and felt us too, for its living voice slipped into our souls. With a rising joy within me, a distinct impression of two words came -"Thank you." It had been placed there by the wise, old tree. Quivering, I walked around the side to where Rose stood.

"Rose, the tree said 'thank you'." Her eyes were huge, luminous.

"I know," she said, in a deep, whispered tone.

"I heard it. Just now. Oh my God. I heard the tree say 'thank you'."