A quiet tangle of birch trees, their silvered trunks draped in lichen, stands deep in a Highland woodland. Autumn’s early touch has begun to soften the greens with hints of amber and ochre, while the mossy floor lies undisturbed—thick with heather, grasses, and fallen limbs slowly folding back into the earth. Light filters gently through the canopy, illuminating a stillness that feels both ancient and alive. This is not a place for hurried footsteps, but for standing still, listening, and seeing.