It is one of those forests where, if you run fast enough, barefooted and alive, you can touch off – roots and ground- shadows become branches, green acorns, and shade falling asleep until you find yourself swimming in the clouds, not kicking but push-gliding, lungs and down-soft sun breathing in and out through every pore. A bird may nibble the moss from between your toes, but other than that you’d never know you were the least bit out of place. You’ll know you have arrived when you hear my footsteps approaching from behind the ocean. They plink, maroon-gold and bronze,…