There’s something funny about a dwarf cypress forest,
Especially in winter when their branches are bare.
When you walk among them – with giant-style strides – it’s hard to come to grips with the fact they are just as old as the “tall cypress”– even older – only they are bonsaied.
Like a rocky alpine outcrop where a twig precariously takes root, a meager layer of marl on the surface and shallow presence of lime rock below slow motions their growth into tiny miniatures.
The oldest ones you can tell – not by their height – but by the stoutness and gnarly nature of their trunks.
The dwarfs are small yes – which lowers one’s guard – but also at eye level.
That makes them as “hard” to see through as they are “easy” to go too far (… without looking back) ,
Before you know it you’re disorientated.
You won’t get lost there …
(But you will want to keep an eye out for alligators.)