Of Forests and Failure

I take yet another walk through the forest that holds me and keeps me in its awe. My neck begins to ache dully because of constantly looking up and watching birds, insects, leaves and branches of every hue you could ever imagine. A million sights and sounds and sensations. A snail with its antenna and dull brown shell, moving as though on wheels with an air of royalty that does not bother about speed. To it, like me, the journey mattered more than the destination. A centipede- glossy and busily moving over twigs and leaves. Curling up when poked or prodded. Birds twittering and singing, moving from branch to branch. One dressed in a dinner jacket that fit wonderfully, showing it off by jumping busily in front of me, the other hidden well from my prying eyes. Slithering slowly and noisily over dry leaves into a clump of trees - that was a red rat snake that looked at me from behind a tree curiously. A grey mongoose looking about with a frightened air. It looked left first, then right, and then left again. When it was just about to cross the road it spied me boring my eyes into it, taking in its swift movements and shiny fur. Then it bolted to the other side and looked back at me hidden safely under a slab. A heron that arrived in the evening into its favourite spot on the lawn and busily picked up delicious insects. Lots of butterflies, donning the latest fashion. Blue of a million hues, pink, yellow, green, orange, red, black, what-is-that-colour-never-named-by-man. And trees, reaching out to heaven, waving at the sun. Sunlight drenched these leaves and turned them a translucent green. Colours and shades of green - innumerable. These leaves blessed the occasional passerby with some cold drops of water that had spent the night on them. Creepers that rose to the sky and weaved a thick sun-ban. Branches that fought their way up trying to get some sunshine for themselves.
And me in the middle. Not knowing what to look at and what to take in and what I might miss if I turned one way or the other. Me in the middle. Writing all this to people who probably will never see this place - right out of a fairy tale. Telling them things that they can never feel because words are inadequate. Quite useless. I can tell you about what I see not what I feel. My senses are strong and the stimulus of the forest is powerful. But it is this brain's inability to bring the feelings it experiences and enjoys to you.