Trees sit central on the throne of a diverse ecology, channeling biotic and abiotic life with a silken flow; they strengthen the fetid earth, pulse water through their wooden veins, and shelter an amalgam of animals during shine or storm.
But in the monoculture, silence reigns king. If a single tree is the synapse of a forest brain, then the monoculture is a brain lobotomised. Still alive but unaware, it lacks true life and vitality, content to mull slack-jawed on the slopes of a defeated existence, drowning in its own inimitable quiet.
Image created using a 6-hole pinhole camera.