![]() ![]() I began to fathom the world of legend, where ginseng plants screamed in the night or changed into wild beasts. In those moments, nature is clearly as much inside us as outside, beautiful and fearsome. And yet nowhere outside the forest was I likely to give those fifteen seconds to silent watchfulness. I watched a leaf tumble from the topmost branch of one, all the way down, down, down until it hit the forest floor. Two young oaks nearby were just dark vertical slashes. ![]() In the silence, the forest induced a mild delirium and time stretched like a clock by Dali against a slowly darkening background. One evening on a hillside in the North Carolina section of the Great Smoky Mountains, I watched the last sunlight leave the tops of the maples and poplars and waited beside Lamon Brown, a park ranger on a stakeout for ginseng poachers. In mountain forests where ginseng grows, you find more unruly emotions. ![]() © Marc KaczmarekįORESTS INSPIRE INTENSE and intimate reactions: the feelings of peace and awe of temple groves. They are selected from Spirits of the Forest, a portfolio by Marc Kaczmarek. The photographs in this article are of wild North American ginseng roots. ![]()
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