I love the forest for its magic. The same place never quite looks the same. The light is always slightly more or less illuminated, sometimes appearing in playful flashes, sometimes in patches, sometimes barely there at all, hiding behind shadow. I am transported, as to another forest, another path, a brighter path, a greener path, greener pastures, unpasteurized milk, where I can get some? My mind tends to run on up ahead or lag way behind. I trip. The forest reminds me to pay attention, to be present.
I love the forest for its paths that guide me. Lately, the path fools me with newly fallen branches and twigs, piling up as if to disguise its use. Walking, feeling the muscles in my thighs, the shock in my calf as my boot hits the earth, a root, a rock. Picking up my step, focusing on my breath, I feel breathless, I feel alive. My mind reminds me to pay attention, to be present.
I love the forest for its greens: artichoke, fern, silvery, grey, light and dark, each with varying intensities and lightness. Green embodies harmony–creating balance between the heart and the head. Its hues remind me to pay attention, to be present.
I love the forest for its life. In repose against an old tree, eyes closed, thoughts gone, serene. I pay attention, I am present.