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April 22, 2003 ~ At Ease
Tuesday.
I hiked up to Suicide Ridge, turned away from Dogwood Pasture, and continued up and up, ignoring the turn-off for Cold Springs and taking instead the faint trail that led further up the ridge. I reached the highest point of the ridge then continued on down, down the back, through the rhododendron and laurel groves.
Now, I am near the valley on the other side, sitting on a huge boulder, one of many on this particular mountainside. The trail petered out long ago, so, as I went, I carefully picked landmarks to come back to, picking a new one when the last was barely still in sight. I'm glad that I brought my notebook.
The fading afternoon sun is on my back. This side of the ridge has a constant wind upon it, though the other side was completely still; here the trees never stop their roaring. The only birds that I can hear are crows, and they are far off. The trees overhead have small spring leaves. This area of forest is eerie for its lack of animals. Not even squirrels, especially odd, that. The ground is covered in a thick layer of rasping dead leaves, though the green leaves of wildflowers dot the brown here and there. The sun is warm. The wind is not.
The wind is winning out, and I plan to leave soon, before I can no longer write for my shivers. I will head back through the forest, remembering my land marks one by one, and I will eat some fern fiddle-heads that I saw on the way. Their taste is strong, somewhat musty, and their tiny hairs tickle my gums. A cold front came in today, though it comes against the promise of summer swiftly approaching. This will be gone by tomorrow, I'm sure.
All day, sitting at my desk in my basement office, I ached for the woods. I cannot get enough of this. No matter how many hikes, even if I go every day for hours, I have not been out enough. There is no place where I feel more secure and safe than under trees. Around people--well around strangers, at least--I feel awkward, shy, not myself. Reserved.
In the forest, I'm free. Free from judgment, free from restraints. Free from small talk and ridiculous obligations. Trees do not judge; they do not make small talk. They speak in eternal words of sunlight and rain, wind and calm, dying and procreating. The wind tugs at my hair as it tugs at their branches. The trees restore me to my basic self, and expect nothing from me.
Happy Earth Day.
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