The late afternoon was made evening by the tall trees rising around them.
On the far side the trees rose in a forbidding wall.
Beyond the woman rose the ancient trees of the shrine.
She saw trees rising to meet them, wondered for a moment if they would crash.
Ahead, the trees rose in dark, vertical lines against the softer black of the night.
A tree like nothing that ever grew on Earth rose behind them, and the images were filled with sunlight.
There is an annual Christmas party for students, with a tree rising to the 12-foot ceiling.
Tall trees rose about me, their ranks sweeping away on either hand.
More than 20 years later, the trees rose tall enough to be visible from the village beneath.
Inside it was like a cathedral, with the dome of the tree rising high above.
