There is nothing like a walk in the woods or down a leafy street when you need to gather your thoughts. There is something mystical about being among tall, leafy trees – you know they have been there, standing guard over the land around them, weathering the changing seasons. They are nature’s musical instruments and the rustle of their leaves is her anthem. I remember taking a walk with my father through the woods; a silent walk, for we were there to listen and to feel the forest. We grew a little hungry during our walk, in the Hockley Valley, north of Toronto, so we sat down on a giant stump, underneath the green-golden canopy and had peanut butter sandwiches and steaming French roast coffee. After a few quiet bites, I asked him why he likes the forest so much. He explained to me that he is from the far North, that the forest has always been a place full of life, full of music. He asked me to listen to the rustle of the leaves through the breeze. “You hear that? That’s my favourite sound in the world. It is the song of my childhood.”