I found myself with a bit of energy. There had been resting, then some cleaning, of all welcome things; some biscuit making, minestrone soup simmering on the stove, Acorn squash baking in the oven, Broccoli ready for steaming, with a beloved, home from a long long day, soaking in a hot tub. So I grabbed the pup and the ball, dressed warmly, and headed off through the underbrush behind the house, to the near extinct trails out behind the house, above the outwaters of the Connecticut.
The young forest had grown up thick with saplings and other vines over the past six months since I went tromping through, and it was all so unfamiliar I had to get my bearings, to locate the old barbed wire fencing, that cuts through trees and down the hill. In the past, I tried various tools to cut through and save up the wire, so that generation after generation of wild ones don't get pierced and infected, but no tool works like a wire cutter, which I don't have.
The forest floor was pink and red, from the vines slowly coming of age in this early October, the neighbor far across the ravine shooting off his guns, a nice Friday evening activity. Seems with a girlfriend he no longer races across all the conversation lands with his four wheeler, but I suspect he will still be up for Coyote hunting on snowmobiles, this winter.
Down we bushwhacked, amazed at how thick the growth has become this year, and finally reached the old trails, almost but not completely obscured by small trees and other things.
I found tracks of a large booted person having come through today, after the rains, and followed them a bit. Then sat along the ridge, realizing I could no longer peer down into the waters, which will have to wait until the leaves drop, and the view regained.
Dante raced through the woods, no need for a ball for entertainment. I showed him Deer scat, other burrows he sniffed with curiosity, then would set off after the scolding Chipmunks perched all along the way, irritated at the large black furred creature romping about their quiet neighborhood.
Wandering around the woods with no trail at all is such a peaceful experience. It is then I realize the gift of having a restricted life. Because there is no choice of working or contributing to a cause, or any other contributing. Even thinking has a cost when your body does not recharge, so there is this interesting dynamic that pulls you back from all the things you would love to do in the world, and settles you back down, again and again, to quiet. Simplicity. The mindful walking in the forest.
In the forest, nothing else exists. Except the way the wildlife shows itself. The way that some trees fell since the last walk, and decomposed, enabling all sorts of others to grow and live. There are paths of others coming through, and unusual plants you come upon. You change direction any time you want, having a general sense of where you are, but not exactly, so that you become at ease with each twist and turn of the land.
There is no sound, save that of your footfalls, and the thundering of the pup as he nears and then runs off again. You begin to consider who walked here before, 100 years ago, 500 years ago, when only the four native tribes roamed this land.
You begin to consider a mother gathering mycelium for winter's broth, or roots for drying. An adolescent or two, helping to bring to the village supplies for the winter. Young ones learning to hunt, to skin and dry meat for dark cold days. The feel of the early October breeze on their skin, as the life giving rain gently falls, as it does today.
There are so many lives; Oak, bear, ant, human, over such a long expanse of time. There is nothing that provides succor more than connection. With those we know and hold dear today, with those we are connected to and beholden to from the past. All species, everywhere at home.
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