Today was a first. I have never dared to hike back in my woods alone, but there was no one available to come along, and the sweet breezes and warm sunshine made me desperate. So, with only the company of my trusty walking stick, I headed into the trees.
It was a beautiful spring afternoon. I tied my sweater around my waist and let the sun and the soft wind move over my arms. No massage ever felt better.
Under the damp leaves and the winter debris of fallen twigs and dead grasses, a lush swathe of green has begun to spread. Moss thickening on the fallen logs, feathery swatches of tiny fern, the first tender leaves of the dog-tooth and trillium. The trees have buds, slightly swelling in the first of the spring sun. Their bark is warm to the touch as they deliberate the time of growth that is so near.
The woods has lost its winter hush, although a few startling patches of snow still lie in the cold shadows to remind us of its recent and lengthy stay. The wind soughed through the treetops, making a sound like rushing water. Birds cried out overhead, as they looped through the trees, darting over the path ahead. Under it all, the steady chorus of frogs, thawing out from their chilly sleeps beneath the mud.
The brilliant sunlight playing on the creek’s surface was lovely to watch. I stood on the bridge and looked out over the water, lingering there for a while. There is something about water-watching …it never grows tiresome.
I followed the circles of light, scattered like stepping-stones, through the church. There were hoof-prints in the soft ground. My woods by horseback is something I must put on my bucket list.
As I circled back toward the bridge, a velvety brown moth, with wings edged in gold, looped through the air above me, leading the way along the crooked trail. I left it sunning its wings on a log as I retraced my steps across the bridge, casting a wistful glance behind me as I headed back towards the car.
I’ve noticed that the creaking of trees on a windy day sounds very much like the opening of a squeaky door. “Come in,” the woods seems to invite. “Stay awhile…”
Life in Glimpses by Corrina Austin 