In The Woods

In the woods,  bright green maple leaves mix with coarse pine needles.  Moss grows beneath your feet, up a branch, along fallen trees, and over your trail.  Sun peaks through the mixture, revealing pockets of golden light.  Shadows are created further down, adding to the feeling that you are hidden, covered, in nature. 

In the woods, muscles regain their memory. Once again can you hop over trunks knocked over from old age.  And climb hillsides leading to unbelievable treasures.  They remember how to control your ankles up and down the slopes.  They ache in warm delight. 



In the woods, everything makes sense.  Thoughts are clearer, problems are solved, paths are forged.  Writing is inspired.  Minds are rejuvenated.  Out there, you rely on your own instincts, learn to trust what you know, and promise yourself you will keep trying to discover more. 



In the woods, I'm back.  I feel like I did on my happiest days. Everything clicks into place.  Dew hits my shoulders and streaks my hair.  Cool pockets of air covers my skin.  Fingers glide over coniferous trees, their bark so different than back East. I am grateful to reach out and touch, even if it means an encounter with sticky sap.  Twigs snap at my feet, which are often covered with sturdy hiking shoes, but occassionally sandals as the woods are so close now.  That snap is satisfying.  I am alone in the woods, except for a puppy companion who eagerly runs ahead, then back to me, then ahead again.  Rarely do I see wildlife; they are deeper in than I'll ever be.  A hush follows around me.  I don't speak, and sometimes I don't even think.  Instead, I'm transfixed on the next step, not having to look around because I'm embedded in foliage.  I emerge from the green, covered in tiny leaves, whispy webs, and dirt.  

In the woods, I'm home.