We had been driving along the endless vines for quite some time when the sun endeavoured to break through the thick, fluffy layer. She took out a round pair of red and blue sunglasses, rolled herself a cigarette and slowly wound down the window. The smoke rings she formed with her lips seemed to break free to the beat of the music emanating from the car radio. She hummed along, her feet in the wind. And me, I could not help but look at her.
Sitting in silence, she had borrowed one of my items of clothing to keep warm. I thought she was beautiful, with her messy hair and that jumper three times too big for her.
We drove for miles down winding roads, until that moment, when I switched off the engine in that vastness made up of thousands of trunks, branches, and needles, planted firmly with pride of place, their heads exposed to the cool evening breeze.
Bathed by the glimmer of the fairy lights in our four-wheeled home, we enjoyed a local beer as we breathed in the scent of the spruces that joyfully filled the air. That night, in this place filled with magic, I lay down next to her, lulled only by the sound of nature.