A Walk in the Woods
In early December I took a walk in the woods at the end of our road with our son Hayden. It is rare these days to find such a quiet space as this woods—a sanctuary of silence filled with trees so tall you must look up to the sky to take in their entirety. Those who pass by are reminded on a sign that the trails are fragile. We proceed without feeling the need to talk. Like the vast space in Notre-Dame de Paris, this forest preserve feels like a cathedral for the ages. Following our senses, we make our way along trails barely marked, forest bathing in dappled light. Like Alice who fell down a rabbit hole, we feel ourselves shrink as we make our way beneath the soaring trees that surround us.
Along the trail we chose to follow, we spotted what at first glance appeared to be a giant mushroom. Reaching its base, we discovered that it was in fact an enormous boulder resting atop a massive tree stump. As Hayden approach and circled the rock, he calculated the proper stride, spring, and lift needed to launch himself into the air and like a gymnast, land upright with both feet squarely planted. At age 57, Hayden’s flying leap and perfect landing was indeed an impressive feat worthy of Olympic gold.
Rejoining the trail, we walked ever deeper into the forest. Where the trail diverged into two, Hayden walked down one path leaving me to explore a clearing that I recognized. There were many more trees and trails there before the area was thinned and the stumps masticated to allow the stronger trees to thrive without competition. John Muir believed that a healthy forest was one open enough to breathe and be bathed in sunlight. Open enough for deer to race between trees and birds to wing just above the forest floor and then soaring up to the treetops.
When Hayden rejoined me, I told him there had been a lovely pine tree in the clearing during Covid. Locals who felt isolated by the pandemic took solitary walks and one day a tall man hung a bright Christmas ornament as high as his arm would reach in tree. Before long, visitors to the clearing were moved to add an ornament to the tree’s branches. Without a word spoken, the tree brought joy and a sense of connection.
When we finally left the clearing, I led Hayden off the beaten path to an upper branch of trail I sensed would take us back to where our walk had begun. As the trail narrowed, our pace slowed and I began studying what was underfoot. Ferns once green and vibrant lay still on the frozen ground, wheaten and dry, covered with a thin coat of frost that glittered in the light. Further up the path, two logs that had been turned perpendicular to the trail formed an opening wide enough to be walked through. There two cairns—each perfectly place by the hands of one who clearly knows these trails well—marked the way for those who silently passed by.
Nearing the end of the walk, Hayden noted the apparent absence of animals and birds. At that moment, the sound of his voice startled a murder of crows the size of wild turkeys and a flock of small birds that were roosting in the treetops above us. Unlike the crows that took flight, the small birds remained in their lofty perch overhead, as if holding a vigil for one among them that had just been lost. Sensing they had just witnessed one of nature’s dramas, I found a circle of grey and white feathers scattered amongst frozen leaves. At the center, a blood red heart appeared to still be beating. The still life in nature mirrored how life as we know it can change in an instant.
As December comes to an end, I’m reminded of the arrival last week of the winter solstice. From now until spring, darkness and the weight it carries will gradually give way to light. As we all make our way forward in a world out of balance and filled with deep divisions both political and geographic, we should be kind. Inclusive. Compassionate. Generous. We will become our best selves only when we learn to listen to each other and, no matter our differences, strive to row as one.
It behooves us to slow down. Breathe in and breathe out. Listen to the sounds of silence. Allow nature to surround us with moments of peaceful reflection and quiet, for that is when healing begins.