Today, I was in one of my very favorite places in Mexico -- a lovely pine-oak forest high in the Sierra Aloapaneca mountains in Oaxaca. It's a rumpled mountain landscape, softened by vast stretches of geological time, so that the stony bits have been worn smooth and covered with vegetation. The trees are draped with bromeliads, epiphytes and orchids, lichens and mosses; at times the branches literally disappear under their load of "hangers on". Sometimes the clouds hang low, ghosting along the ridges and tangling among the trees, leaving glistening drops on every pine needle and leaf tip. On other days, like today, the azure skies above seem limitless. The air smells of pine, crisp and clean. Sometimes the grind of a logging truck or the buzz of a distant chainsaw intrudes, but mostly I'm struck by the lack of human generated noise. Other than birdsong, the buzz of passing insects and the sound of wind through the trees, the silence reigns supreme.
Late afternoon sunlight on pine needles turned them a glittering silver. An interesting factoid: Mexico has more species of pine than any other country on the planet.
Most species? What's up with that? Never would have guessed. I like how the needles look like moving water.
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