When I was a kid, we used to walk to an old powder mill in the woods. First, you hiked through two fields and a little patch of deciduous forest in between. My dad could name all the trees.
"Look, that one's tulip poplar. There's an oak, and that one is a maple."
If we walked with stealth, we might come across deer. They weren't bold like the Texas deer, and took flight as soon as they got a whiff of a human.
this painting reminds me of deep, cool Pennsylvania woods, where barely a ray reaches the ground.
