You can't really grasp their size until you stand beside one. The trunks aren't just thick; they are vast, deeply creased with the texture of time. The branches reach out like tangled roots reaching for the clouds, giving the impression that the tree was planted upside down. Each one is distinct, a silent, individual presence on the landscape.
My camera in hand, I found myself slowing down, no longer just a traveler passing through. Taking a photo became an act of focus. I’d breathe in the dry air, feel the sun on my face, and simply look. I wasn’t trying to capture every detail, but to hold the feeling of their scale and stillness. They’ve been here for centuries, watching the world change, and in their quiet company, my own small worries felt far away.
It was a powerful reminder of what it means to be truly present. To stand in the shadow of something so enduring and simply feel the space, the silence, and the immense, living history around me. I left with more than just pictures. I left with a different sense of time, a quieter rhythm, a feeling I'll keep long after the dust from the road has settled.
