April Ambles: Grounding
Fancies of a Philosophical Forager — Day 1
Whenever I feel disconnected, I wander out my kitchen door and up through the woods. The path goes up steeply, under tree limb, over creek, across fallen trunks of trees that have succumbed to age or lightning, or both.
For months the leaves have hidden seeds and roots, snails and centipedes. But today the trout lily is blooming, hiding its tender heart as it turns shyly toward the feathery leaf cover from which it recently broke free.
Whimsical and yet grounded, this is one of a host of treasures I step over on my path up the mountain. To my right is the stream, roaring from last night’s downpour, skipping and dancing over mossy rocks, rushing down to the river, where earlier I threw in a line to see if the trout were biting.
It only takes a few seconds to feel grounded out here among the trees. Cares of the household and the endless demands of correspondence are suddenly infinitely lighter. When I return to my desk, I will write with more zest. My dishes will almost wash themselves. It will not matter that the socks don’t match or that I didn’t finish my list of tasks for the day.
I have wandered in the woods, and that is what I was meant to do. The tasks are always there. The woods are ever changing, yet they keep grounding me…if I let them…
For more amblings from the author, check out Child of the Woods: An Appalachian Odyssey.
