Fresh air. The faint smell of decayed leaves. A breeze gently moving the hair on my head. A sunny day so bright it makes me squint. Trees beginning to sprout leaves, still more brown and grey than green. The honking sound of a flight of geese passing overhead. Springtime has come.
Spring was always one of my favorite times to go to the woods. If I was truthful, almost anytime would be good, but the spring was always special. Everywhere I looked I could see new beginnings. Here and there was a trace of icy snow…small reminders of the season just ending.
The air was usually cold enough to make my nose run and for some reason, I still recall the sound of my sniffles. That and the sound of twigs snapping underfoot. I would walk for hours, pausing to look at a scene that struck me as unusual or beautiful. Ordinarily I am fairly social but the woods were for me a welcoming, solitary place. I never felt alone there with so much new life happening all around me and I was never able to share my thoughts and feelings about the experiences, so it was good that I went to the woods alone.
When I was younger and was a boy scout, we used to go camping often in all seasons. I’ve helped pitch a tent in snowstorms and in sweltering heat and all conditions in between. We learned various camp crafts; how to track prints; find our way with a compass; survive out of doors with just a hunting knife and a staff and more. I enjoyed the camaraderie and competition when we tested our skills against one another in games.
But it was not the same as when I would go to the woods alone. Those were special times. When the world seemed empty or joyless, there was always the forest to renew me. In my mind I can still see the woods. Now that I am older and in no shape to go to the forest, the scenes of spring outdoors are good memories that I treasure.
Sometimes, I sit quietly and recall a visit to the forest. The smells are the hardest for me to recall but I can bring to mind the sounds. With focus, I remember the feel of the air rustling my hair and caressing my skin. I used to think it was the hand of God reaching down to muss my hair like an older man does to a young boy. Then I am back there in my mind. The reflection is energizing in a way that is difficult to explain.
I may not be able to enjoy the forest anymore in person. But I can still go there in my mind and feel some of the energy of years gone by. When I talk to old friends, I don’t mention the forest. I doubt they would understand my connection. It is a treasure I save for myself and my quiet times. Both then and now.
