She took another step into the woods,
And then another,
And as she moved in deeper,
She was overwhelmed by the way the forest was attuned to her.
Branches lowered themselves,
Low enough for her to reach a hand up and stroke the bare bark,
Low enough for them to tickle the skin of her arms.
Soon,
Her surprise turned into understanding.
She knew what this feeling was about.
She knew what was happening.
It was the same elation she experienced when her garden's roses greened their necks out of concern for her.
It was the same tingle that consumed her when the plum tree bent its branches to shade.
It was a sunny day,
Of course.
Only now,
In these dense woods,
As far from her garden as she had ever been,
It was stronger than ever before.
She became part of this forest as soon as she entered it,
And it was a part of her.
They could communicate.
They could be as one,
Without a single word spoken.
Filled with wonder,
She sat beneath the biggest tree in the woods.
As she did,
She heard a familiar rustling noise.
Within seconds,
Curious tendrils of ivy appeared at her side,
Wrapped eagerly around her legs,
And climbed over her hands.
She stayed very still.
The ivy was different from the ivy in her garden.
It was more childlike in its embrace and more impatient.
There was a kind of discovery in the way the tendrils wrapped around and beneath her that was new to them both,
But soon all forgiveness was gone for her.
She was lifted off the ground to lie on a silken pillow of ivy created just for her.
She let herself relax into it.
We move because of you,
The ivy whispered to her,
And the tree humsed in agreement.
You're exceptional,
The wood told her.
The words did not come as a person's voice.
They came as the warm whistling breeze and the rustle of branches and titters of a bird.
A lullaby.
Most breakthroughs come from small beginnings.
Huge shiny buildings are built in a place that was once a forest.
Be willing to take small steps.
Be relentless and never feel intimidated.
Keep going until those dreams are made.
Keep going.
This is the lesson the forest has to offer to her.
The trees,
Free-flowing,
A symmetry fascinated her.
The cluster of leaves through which the sunlight filters gently in makes her dream.
Each tree is different from all the others.
Still they hum their song together and teach us how to connect with the world and live together.
But the forest,
Wounded by the wind,
Weeps dead leaves.
The more we go inside nature,
The more she offers herself to us.
In winters,
The wood is supposed to be asleep.
That is what people say.
But I don't think it's true.
In spring and summer the trees and creatures are preoccupied.
Everyone is busy.
In winter there is silence.
There was silence but not an empty silence.
In winter the wood is listening.
A forest deserves protection.
Regardless of its values to humans.
That is what she was very sure of.
She stood upon a hill green and studded with pale stones.
Below her was forest.
Blue bells undulating among the trees,
A tide of purple dissolving into shadows.
There was a lake,
No two lakes.
A second,
A mere line of glitter in the distance.
At our back,
Behind the nexus and extending to the northern horizon,
Were mountains of indigo and layered shadow.
Some darkened to black by the moody sky overhead.
Some greyed and some smudged by shafts of sunlight.
Must I even say it?
It was beautiful,
Of course it was.
The forest in particular with linted hair.
And there,
With silver as the wind rode the branches,
As if someone had clambered into the canopy to hang baubles.
And yet I had the sense that I was not seeing the entirety of it.
That the shadows were thicker,
More obscuring than those in the modern realm.
Many of the details were clouded by a dreamlike haze.
Even now,
As I write these words,
I'm still in a kingdom called forest.
