When the Forest Calls

a dose of green therapy, forest green, that is

For three days, the rain fell. It drizzled and it pounded and it misted. It dropped through the canopy of needles, it dripped off the curled yellowed tips of the autumn leaves, it soaked into moss and soil. It nourished the tangled underground roots of towering trees, it was absorbed through swaying stalks of ferns and foliage, and it swelled the trickling post-summer rivers into churning rapids reminiscent of spring.

For three days, the rain fell—and when it eased, the forest called.

Puddles have settled in the divots and pockets of the well-worn path. The roar of the rushing river next to me drowns out all other sound and I must rely on sight alone to maintain awareness of my surroundings. But soon enough, the path gently curves away from the banks of the swollen river, carrying me further into the embrace of the forest.

Moss is plentiful and varied here. There is the soft, spongey carpet upon which I place my feet as I gently make my way off the trodden trail; it muffles my steps and climbs slowly up the trunks of trees. Then there are the long green tendrils so abundant that no hint of trunk or branch remains; only dangling diamond raindrops glinting in the light as they are cocooned within the hanging moss.

My heart beats a soothing rhythm; I’m home, I’m home, I’m home. Emotion comes in swoops and swells as I take in the sheer magic contained within this forest— within a colour, within a mushroom, within a branch swathed in moss.

The ferns here look as if summer has not touched them with its heat and drought; vibrant and luscious, they sway to and fro, fluttering in the air’s soft current.

Mushrooms thrive; there are perfectly shaped reds, teeny tiny browns, and lanky caps of white nestled amongst the thick green moss. A minuscule trio of oranges brings me to my seat in the wet undergrowth.

Then we find their larger counterparts, in clusters and groupings, wedging themselves into the world between stumps and decomposing logs.

A squirrel scampers from one tree to the other, and pauses long enough beside me to send a look my way, a look suggesting I’m in the way of her usual route. I don’t doubt I am, this is her forest more than mine, but I sit quietly and she finds her way around my presence.

Eventually, the dark depths of the forest are lit with a gentle light as the sun burns its way through the thinning clouds.

My adoration of this spectacular outing lingers within me for days after the fact, highlighted in my mind as a morning to remember, a place to revisit, and an experience I’m very happy to share with you now.

Until we meet again, my friends,

♡ Whitney

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