The snow came, at least for a little while. In the few hours before sunrise and sunset, I would find myself in the forest, losing track of time entirely. When the snow started to thin out on the ground, the days heavy with fog made up for it.
When I look outside in the morning and am greeted by fog, I’m unable to stay indoors. I had a stuffed ‘to do’ list waiting for me to complete it the other day, but I’ve missed too many foggy mornings over the years because of my need to stick to a rigid schedule. No more will that happen. I don’t own a watch and I rarely take my phone out with me when I go into the forest. After a hurried breakfast I grabbed my camera without so much as a backward glance at my ‘to do’ list and headed out into the forest, hoping with all hope that the sun wouldn’t try to break through and obliterate the mystique.
I took a path I’d been wanting to explore further, and I walked and I walked and I walked, my eyes darting this way and that like a curious wolf pup seeing the world for the first time. I deeply relished the peace that came with moving further away from people.
I’ve always had that encouraging – yet stubborn – attitude of ‘just a bit further…’ I wanted to see what was over the next rise, where that stream was hurrying to, if the house behind the handmade gate was abandoned. I wear my curiosity like a cloak, and always take it with me to the forest.
I eventually turned around, somewhat reluctantly, when hunger started to knock against my stomach’s walls. I thought I’d been gone for an hour or so…and was shocked to discover almost four hours had passed since I’d left home. To say I’m thankful for my forest adventures is an understatement. They’re an essential part of my daily existence. I can’t imagine a life without them.