An Escape

when winter drags on just a little too long

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A cacophony greets my ears as I step onto the gravel trail that weaves through towering moss-drenched trees. I pick out the piercing whistle of the thrush, the lyrical chirp of the robin, the continuous chatter of the squirrel; but there are more songs interwoven in the din that are unknown to me.

Numerous ducks paddle softly through the glassy lake, finding their perch on a mossy log that juts into the water. A pair of geese have claimed their corner far across the expanse, floating quietly side by side. A large black raven flies overhead, silent but for the whoosh of wings through the still air.

Spring is here.

Home, what feels a world away, but in truth, is only a 35-minute drive. There, snow still falls on a near daily basis—it remains winter in the mountains and forests for a while yet. And I needed an escape.

There are signs that spring has only recently arrived here; ferns remain wilted against the earth, bare branches dominate sections of the forest, only just beginning to show their buds and new growth.

The morning air holds a bite that has my hands frequently retreating to the warmth of my pockets and makes me grateful I wore my winter layers. But the world around me is snowless and green, the forest filled with sounds of life.

And that’s everything I needed.

With every step I take, something wondrous and ethereal unfolds. I half expect to find a witch’s rickety cottage nestled beneath these aged and crooked trees, green and grown from the forest itself. My heart tells me, surely, this is the land of fairies and gnomes and all manner of invisible forest dwellers.

I run my fingers over soft beds of moss, graze my hands along gnarled trunks of trees, and soften my steps to become a forest creature myself.

Deeper the path takes me, and I am entranced, being lulled and lured further and further into the wood. There is magic here, of that I have no doubt.

The sun eventually appears over the ridge I walk along, but I am tucked along its shadow and the warmth doesn’t reach me. I peer up the fern-dotted hillside to see a glow of softened sunlight in the distance and watch as slivers of light pierce the dense woodland and highlight tendrils of moss.

The birds continue with their songs and I continue with my silence as I retrace my steps back to the trail’s beginning. After soaking in the last moments of a land emerging into spring, I climb into the truck, and head, somewhat sadly, back into the snow.

Thank you for wandering with me. Until next time,

♡ Whitney

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