The forest holds many things.

Animals, fruits, a cool breeze,
but also the memories of an old man who used to run amongst the leaves.

Those memories he remembers and not one word he would get wrong, he remembers it as well as the words of a song.

In the winter, he would feel the sting of the cold air, contemplated by the beautiful snow at which he could not help but stare.

When came spring, he would run and laugh and jump and scream, drunk on the scent of flowers and the light the sun would beam.

Every summer, the hot sun would bring out his melanin, and to his content, the birds would sing.

At fall, he would lie in the fallen leaves and look at the sky, thinking of all of the new things and ideas he was willing to try.

What I'm saying is, the forest is not just pleasing aesthetics, it is the beautiful memories of every person that has stood in its mist.