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Redwood space takes everything terrible off you. Every time I drive home, as I hit the spot where Highway 101 starts winding through the grandpas, every tense muscle, every dark and sharp edge on every nerve, all of it drops off me like bodies from skyscrapers. A lead jumpsuit seems to melt off so fast the top of my head starts to float out the moonroof. Just the thing for a frazzled old broad who's just emerged from having two dental professionals doing summersaults in her mouth for three hours straight.
It's going to be so impressive I can't even think who the first person to look in there and marvel should be.
I don't know if I've told you this before, but redwoods speak. I have conversed with them. There is NO way you can be anything but humbled by the experience. They are the buddhas. They feel like all-knowing ancients, like the grandfathers speaking to you from out of the sky. If it ever happens to you, you will drop to the ground and know nothing as important will EVER happen to you again.
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