The further and deeper I moved between the trees and moss cloaked boulders, the bigger my heart became. I could feel it blooming in my chest, like a moon flower unfurling to meet the cold, pale, welcoming face of its mother. I felt at my best in the forest. I always feel my best in the forest, my most peaceful, my most inspired.
I don’t really know how I managed to find my way back home following my wanderings. I was forever winding my way down forgotten footways, eyes spinning one way, then the other, wanting to take in every clump of snow crystals, every shivering pine bough, every puddle protected with a smooth surface of ice. I was always pausing to try and listen to the stories that the forest wanted to tell me.
The boulders I passed fascinated me more than usual. I found myself thinking I could easily fall in love with a boulder. I wanted to put my hands on each ancient back, and quietly ask the questions: Have you always sat here in this place? Can you tell me of the things you have seen? What happens here at night when the humans are at home asleep?
I was hungry in the forest, hungry for what lay up ahead, around the next corner, at the top of the enormous hill… But even though I needed to turn around before I really wanted to, I felt satisfied. The forest would never leave me feeling empty. I see every walk I take in the forest as a gift, for which I feel so very thankful.