Archive for Natures Fury
White Rabbit
A late afternoon hike was in order recently, as I so desired to sit atop my mountain and watch the sunset as I had just a week before. Unfortunately, Mother Nature had other plans. I contemplated the wiseness of my plan at the base, with the rain setting in, and once again logic was defeated by desire. I began my ascent, and the rain let up, reduced to a soft gray mist that left the air surrounding me humid and billowing. December, usually cold and bitter on this hill of mine, was mild and damp, reminiscent of Spring. To my liking, the dear rain had thwarted others from climbing this fine afternoon, and I was left alone with my thoughts, and, a little piece of underused technology which allowed me to listen to the beloved Phantom of the Opera.
Alone, the phantom and I walked and climbed, and watched the ghosts of the mountain move silently between the trees on the wings of Decembers’ gray breeze. As I neared the peak, and the light was just beginning to change, I crossed an old stone wall, and perched there, just watching, was a white rabbit. He watched me so intently, that I was consumed with the urge to see how close I could get. Not a movement, not a nose or even ear twitch did I detect on his behalf. I was three feet way before the white rabbit turned, hopped, and turned again to watch me. I did as any one would have and followed the white rabbit, until he stopped, yet again, looked at me, and then proceeded to disappear into a nearly invisible hole nestled in the stone wall. I approached his granite fortress to find nothing. A tunnel with no visible bottom, and no rabbit. This time I resisted desire and listened to logic, and did not pursue the odd creature, out of a fear of reaching into dark caverns where wild, rabid teeth may be lurking. So, I bid adieu, and continued my walk with the phantom. Upon reaching the barren peak, a ferocious fog settled in, making even the secondary, nearby peak invisible. The air became thick, though still soft like a down pillow. I stayed for ten minutes, just breathing it in, just feeling, just thinking. Then the time came to leave my thoughts behind, to accept the fact that there is no answer, and my life will always be a mystery to me. If I didn’t have wonder, then what would I do? Darkness was settling in quickly at that point, the clouds were thick, and light was changing from the golden eternal twilight that one finds in the forest on a foggy day, to the bluish silver twilight one finds on an outright rainy day in the forest. I needed no more motivation than that, to begin my descent, knowing full well I would be hiking in total darkness by the time reached the bottom. As I came upon the stonewall for the second time in that hour, there I saw, perched and watching, the white rabbit. So, again, we played our little game, in the ever darkening shadows of twilight, and again, he led me to his sanctuary, and again, even with my head lamp light, I could not see my furry friend, nor a bottom to his tunnel. Again, I resisted the urge to further explore, and bid adieu for the second time that day and carried on my dark walk with the phantom.
What a strange and surreal sensation, walking in the dark, alone in the woods, with heightened senses, listening to the Phantom in one ear, and forest sounds in the other, all the while contemplating the significance of facing the white rabbit, chasing the white rabbit, and having not followed the white rabbit. Perhaps, I am always seeking Wonderland, and perhaps if I pursued the white rabbit, I would still be there, in the forest, alone in the dark, with the Phantom. Or perhaps I would have found Wonderland.
Barefoot in November
A walk in the forest. I have neglected this area for too long, more than two weeks, and can I feel it. The leaves were shades of earthen brown that you can only find here, in New England, in the midst of November. Still there were some lingering colors, a splash here and there of gold and red. Not many, just enough to interrupt the monotone presence of Autumn. Crisp beneath my feet, the fallen foliage, crunched like granola as I walked, and I pondered as to how our predecessors walked so silently while stalking and hunting their dinner. The thought provoked me, quite illogically to remove my sneakers, and attempt a barefoot walk in November. Granted the day was sunny, and warm, according to November standards. The earth was still damp from rain, and the low-lying areas I traversed, were muddy and cold. The chill was almost a contradiction of sensory, as the sun beat down, glaringly between the barren branches like a strobe. My face was hot with exertion, and my feet, cold and muddy. The stream was inviting, almost more so than during the dead of summer, with its clarity and crispness, so I used it to briskly rinse the mud from my feet. To don my socks again was like a little piece of warm and fuzzy heaven. I left the forest with a smile, rejuvenated, for now, and with a new respect for our silent walking ancestors.
Storms
Sometimes I wish for storms. Sometimes I wish I were the storm. Sometimes I AM the storm. And sometimes I am wished luck and well being for future storms. All I know is that when I walk outside and I observe, I watch and learn, and live. I see a willow swaying, bending, whipping around frightfully in a fracturous state, and it remains unscathed. It is strong and rooted and unchangeable. It towers with pride. It dances with seduction and grace. And weathers the storms. It is malleable in Natures’ playing hands, as it must be to survive. Bring on the storms, for they are not to be feared but lived through. And remembered, as after each one, everything changes. And everything stays the same.
Ice Storm
I ventured back up the Mountain I so love, after spending the last couple of weeks away. The day was warm, almost balmy, a soothing sort of foggy haze blanketed the earth that surrounded me. In an upward drift, heavenly bound, the mists swirled in natures silky caress. They lifted my spirit the moment my feet entered the forest. Spirit that had been starved, in need of the solitude that only this place can offer. In this darkness, backlit of green filtered light, subdued by the mists, I saw Nature in all Her goodness and in all Her fury. Together, a balance, a reminder of our ultimate powerlessness in Her wake. A breath of fresh air. I walked in silence, and listened. The trees spoke with deafening creaks and moans, the survivors of storm to be remembered for ages. Their limbs tattered and broken, the ground littered with the remains of fallen neighbors. Trees too old, or too weak to stand. The mountainside, as I climbed, fought against me, the ground washed out, rocks and trees strewn about. But what remained was wonderous. Beautiful. Young trees that still flexed, lived. Green emeralds in a blanket of fresh snow. Like a jewel. Old trees, weathered but not weak, like the wizened old storyteller, still stood, knarled and bent but strong. Even the air seemed more pure. Intoxicating. As I broke the tree line, the very air I found intoxicating, reminded me with a vengeance, that I too, am powerless in her wake. The winds blew hard and fast, lifting my hair around my face, threatening to lift my very feet off the ground. Standing on the peak, I spread my arms and leaned into wind, eyes closed, feeling what it must feel like to fly. My eyes teared, my skin reddened, but my body and soul were free. Cleansed by the storm and healed by the same. It was with lighter steps that I began my descent, and embraced the shelter that this forest gives me. The wind no longer bit, and mist enveloped me as I slipped back into solitude. My forest in the clouds.
Vernal Equinox
I went hiking yesterday in search of the signs of spring. Walking into the forest, the new season was upon me, in all its beginning glory. The ice was receding from the ponds and streams and present were the sounds of running water and singing birds. The sun was shining, blindingly bright and warming my face, taking me into solitude, into the forest. As I began my ascent, I became increasingly aware that the spring bliss I had just walked through was still not quite a reality. Running water turned to solid ice, and the snow had been crushed by recent rainfall, creating a glacier like effect covered with the pine needles that did not survive the storm. Walking was treacherous, and demanding. Just another reminder of how powerful and tempermental this earth, and the great Mother Nature can be. AS I neared the top, the sun shown itself again, peaking through the trees as if shy of my presence. Teasing my skin with light, a caress of warmth, amidst the icy world from which I was emerging. And then, open sky, and not a soul to be seen, the mountain top was spectacular. A vision, a combination of both Spring and Winter. Sunny and warm, untill the wind blew and curtly reminded you that Winter intends to stick around another week when it is forced out by the Equinox. Chill bit my face and reddened my cheeks, and in the same moment in time, made me feel as alive as I ever have.
