The oldest trees are gnarled and split, their barks rutted and scarred by time and weather. Ancient roots now exposed stretch forth, dividing and intertwining in their blind search for water and nutrients. A mass of bright fronds unfurl from the soft floor, clambering to stake a claim in the early spring light that will soon be diminished when the trees above perform their own unfurling. Small birds call high in the canopy, unseen from below. At the loch’s edge, casualties of winter storms lie prone in the peaty water. Their shallow roots violently ripped from the musty earth now thrust into the cold air.