Walking the forest during winter brings many magical moments.
I sense the silence here today is shared. Part of it is the forest, and the other part is within me.
A short distance onto the trail I stop walking and the crunch of snow under my feet disappears. The thin air of winter steps back and for a moment I hear things that could be a million miles away.
Subtle sounds entice me to quiet further, slowing my breath as if one could stop all sounds completely. I scan the forest one tiny echo at a time. Listening for distinguishing characteristics, the essence within each creak, every gentle whisper. Some I have heard before, many just a mystery along the trail.
The air is chilly and the trees sway wrapped in this cold embrace. Their sound differs from warmer seasons where tissues move freely, sensing the tight grip upon these gentle giants.
In the vacuum winter creates I can smell a wood fire, probably a mile or more away. I relish in the idea of warming beside it.
Walking further I notice I’m massaging my hands inside my gloves. Winter has a way of keeping us moving.
Long dark shadows create a mystical landscape around me. Crystalline pieces of snow sparkle against shrouds of sunlight as I look across the vast outline surrounding me.
This is a new-growth forest, cut back many times over hundreds of years. One wouldn’t know this from the massive pines and hemlock. I reach down, remove my glove, and place my bare hand on the chunky bark of a red pine. Silently, I ask a question and instantly there is a response and a smile. They always smile!
In the distance, I hear a woodpecker hammering away. His hard work echoes through the forest like a pinball bouncing freely against the trees. It’s like a beacon saying the forest is alive in a less subtle way.
Within its vastness, I realize I’ve walked further than intended. The temperature is dropping as late afternoon reaches outward touching the forest, the sun laying low in the sky. Soon night will land, breathing darkness and new layers of tranquility and inspiration here.
I’m reluctantly reminded of the deep cold coming.
As I walk homeward, I pull out the camera for one last shot (above). It brings completeness to this adventure offering witness to the start of a new cycle.
Darkness falls to night and night to day as all returns anew.
TK
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