Sequoias, I’ve heard, are bigger.
Still.
They almost dare you to photograph them in some unique way, as if knowing that, at least at first, you can’t help but shoot the standard-issue, clichéd image of immense stands of imposing forest. Walking among them I didn’t feel small so much as unimportant.
That’s something of a cliché as well, but it fits.
We left the Elk River center, drove up 101 a short way, passing another beach, through mist and gray that separated where we were from anywhere else we might go.
We stopped at the shore, walked between burms of sand, spent time in the non-place of fog and suggestion. …