Forked tongues

This afternoon I spent a good two hours or so tramping around in the woods behind my house. I was wearing my big boots because, as everyone knows, big boots are essential if one wishes to tramp properly.
It was one of the most enjoyable afternoons I've spent in a while. It was so quiet down there.So quite; and quietness is a rare thing around my house. The only noise was the sound of the creek playing over the rocks; the only thing moving was the tops of the trees as they were tickled by the wind. There was also the sound of a fifteen soon to be sixteen year old young man crashing through the brush in big boots.
I saw hardly any member of the animal kingdom except for spiders. And crows. I ran into a large batch of crows. Large and apparently agitated. I was actually worried they would dive bomb me, and even went so far as to arm myself with a club, but I think the amount of noise I made while scrounging around for a suitable bludgeon scared them off. That and my big boots.
While down in the woods, I had a lot of time for thinking. It was quite enough to really think properly, and I puzzled out a good many things. Mainly, I worked out a theory on the basic nature of love and attraction, decided that the rise in the number of cancer cases must be in some way related to the rising amount of chemicals and junk that is in our food, and wondered why my feet weren't sweating as much as they should be. Was the Thinsulation in my big boots wearing out? How would they hold up this winter?. All theories still need to be tested.
On my way up one particularly steep hill, I came across a tree that looked suitable to climbing. This was very unusual, as most of the trees in my woods are either too large, or too small, or too dead. So I couldn't let this opportunity pass up. Using the excellent grip provided by my big boots, I easily scaled the tree. As I mentioned, this tree was near the top of a hill, so upon reaching the top, the view I was presented was astounding. Rank upon rank of trees marched up the hill across the creek from me, the sunlight dancing on their leaves, with the wind pushing them back and forth as I, perched in my tree, swayed with them. Well, that doesn't really describe it as well as I would like, but that's about as far as words can go. Maybe Emerson or Thoreau could have said it better.
I type all this primarily because I don't have much else to do. But another reason is to encourage anyone who reads this to go outside. It's nice out there. You'll like it.