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Picture a single drop of rain, just one, heavy on the bottom, and lighter on top, just about to drip

from the needle of a spruce tree. The needle is one of many, clustered tightly on a long brown

branch. Together they form a dark green cloak, covering the tree from tip to roots.

Each needle holds its own translucent raindrop. The tree hangs heavy with droplets,

which glisten when the sun peaks out from behind the heavy grey clouds above.

Standing just beside the thick trunk of this particular spruce tree is Emily, and Emily believes.

Emily started coming to this little patch of forest. The first time she visited the great

northwest with her cousin, all those years ago. She was little then, and each tree

a towering presence, beautiful in its largeness, but also a little intimidating.

She used to crouch beneath the lowest branch she could find, and give it a shake,

laughing as the raindrops came pouring down over her head and face.

She could always count on the trees to have their ready-made showers, as it was nearly always

raining in this part of the world. It's one of the things Emily has always loved about this place.

It's practically made of rain. Walking down the forest path, her hiking boots kick up patches

of moss and leaves. As it turns over under her feet, she smells freshly fallen rain,

a new green growth. New green things always seem to be growing here. It's a wild place.

Today, Emily is heading for the library. She's using the trail that Chris Crosses behind

...