The willows here grow to enduring heights of one hundred feet, their narrow leaves and long branches bent towards the ground, never forgetting their home. (pg.14)
The rain clouds ebb and flow across it, causing the sky to change from dark to light and back. At this time if year the weather is fickle, sunlight interrupted by light rain, which dissipates into fog. (p. 58)
Who wouldn't want to visit there? It sounds magical.
I enjoyed reading The Language of Trees. It was a lyrical escape. Beautifully written. I look forward to Ruby's next book.