Standing facing a tree trunk, nose against the bark, as close as is possible without hugging it, eyes focusing on the periphery beyond the object immediately in front, so as not to lose focus or become cross-eyed.
Letting time lag, remaining for an undefined duration there where you are standing.
Standing back from the tree taking it in for the first time in it's entirety becoming aware of it as part of a wood or forest, seeing the space of the forest open up, seeing the spaces between the trees, seeing all the trees.
Taking in the scene, being aware of the trees behind and all around you, feeling the smaller plants scratch and catch legs, standing there.
Breathing, inhaling the air, the aromas of the woodland, wet or dry, crawling with life or silent and cold in winter frosts frozen hold.
Echoing with distant sounds in still air, breeze or wind cutting across ear and cheek as bows creek and unfurl the fury of wind as it brushes the trees into a frenzy, swaying violently, touching and tangling with each other brushing and touching branches and leaves manifesting the sounds of the wind, a musical instrument played by the forces of the atmosphere or remaining calm