I absolutely love the woods. I grew up in a home surrounded by huge evergreens, and their roots burrowed into me at a young age. And while I found refuge in the trees as a child, I also developed a healthy respect for them—I always had a sense there was more to the woods than the dense branches and swaying treetops and wild ferns.
There’s something about the way the woods teeter on the edge of peaceful and eerie that I can’t get enough of. The way a lovely afternoon stroll can turn frightening with the snap of a twig or the rustle of leaves. The way the shadows seem to keep secrets and the darkness awakens things that were dormant during the day.
The woods have a way of making me believe in magic and monsters. And it’s that combination that keeps me coming back to the cover of the trees, day after day, even though I’ve read enough books to know better.