Whereas I tend to see not just a tree, but also light and soil conditions when it was just a sapling, what kinds of birds are nesting in it, whether or not it was good for climbing when I was little, and the exact shade of green on both the top and bottom of the leaf. Then I get all poetical, and before I know it, I've spent 75 words describing the oak in my yard and don't have room for the picnic underneath it. Writing-wise (not so much reading or watching), a forest is just a lots and lots of trees with their branches tangled up and a few ferns scattered around (my large-ish stories tend to have a kind of clunky stop-and-go pacing as a result).

This metaphor is wearing thin, isn't it?