Hold Me Close, Let Me Fly

Notes From The Forest's Edge

Notes from the Forest’s Edge is a bi-monthly delve into the liminal spaces between the seen and the unseen, nature and human, conscious and subconscious. Along with the podcast, Celtic Medicine Stories, these notes are part of the reader supported publication Adventures in the Otherworld.

To get to the forest I have to cross the field. Not usually a big deal but today it seems unbearably hot to this body from high northern latitudes. The field is exposed. Laid bare to be ravaged by the sun, parched for moisture, it appears as a vast stretch of green desert. I power though it, pushing aside memories of the winter days when I yearned for this sun. Now all I want is the shade of the forest.

Stepping under the canopy of the first huge Tulip Poplar that stands as sentinel to the edge of the forest brings relief. A long sigh of gratitude for these green leaves softening the scorching rays before they land on my skin. The shade draws me onward into the depths of the forest, beckoning me towards sweetness.

The soil beneath my feet is suddenly moist. The air feels cooler on my skin. I hear the gentle tumbling of the creek over wet rocks and sense the muscles around my eyes relax back from their protective mode. Ahhh!

I feel held now in the forest, the moisture in the air forming a cooling blanket wrapping around me and the trees. It's loose enough for me to move around freely but tight enough to make me feel cared for. The sensation brings me to those few humans in my life who love me just right - tight enough to hold me close and loose enough to let me roam around exploring me being me. Thank you, Thank you, Thank you.

I feel the tears welling up from deep inside, watery gratitude for being held so tenderly by both the forest and my people. It feels as if those tears are coming from the moisture in the ground, being drawn up through my feet as I tap into the life of the forest, surging up through my trunk until finding an exit through my eyes. They drip off my chin to nourish the soil beneath me.

I'm trees, clouds and falling dew all at once.

I walk slowly taking in the smells of the damp woods, looking for mushrooms and running my fingers along fronds of fern and moss. I feel cleansed, the tears of gratitude seem to have unwound some knot I didn't realize was lurking in me.

As I wind my way along back down the mountain towards the big Poplar I catch a glimpse of the field. It looks glorious now! Bathed in golden light, gleaming green against the sky's deep blue. I take a moment to honor the trees who used to stand here and were cut by our land ancestors. They no long stand tall but stretch out horizontally, laid with skill across each other to form the 120 year old barn that still shelters the animals from the elements.

My rejuvenated eyes now see the beauty here; the open land that allows the grass to feed these four-leggeds, and gives them a place to warm their furry bodies after a cold winter night.

What helps you see with new eyes?