when nature calls, I try to answer the damn phone

02 Jul when nature calls, I try to answer the damn phone

As a child, I always enjoyed a good hideout. I would happily snuggle in behind a tree or rhododendron bush, branches and leaves forming a natural fort which had the power to sweep me away to an enchanted land.

It felt like magic.

Like being in another world.

Hidden from sight and secreted away someplace only I knew about.

Except these forts weren’t really all that hidden. They simply felt that way. It was like a veil dropping, creating a barrier between me… and everything else outside.

I could catch bumble bees in a jar, crawl into my hideaway and commune with nature.

I still find solace in nature. If I find a copse of trees planted in a circle, I will step inside, sit down cross-legged, and look up, allowing the scent of earth and bark to seep into me. I still feel the same magical sense of being in another world. The cacophony of civilization fades out and all I can hear is the wind singing, the clouds moving, the earth breathing.

A walk in the woods transports me. Even if the “woods” are in the middle of a city. I am, all at once, in another world…

In a space where magic exists.

I have a love for trees residing deep within me, reaching past my limbs, past my muscles, past my circulatory system, and into a part of me which exists in the ethereal. I love old trees and young trees. I love trees with faces and trees with scars. I love trees in the winter after fall has laid them bare. I love trees in the spring as they slowly burst with green and blossoms. I love trees with leaves that look like a thousand tiny hands…waving.

I used to dream I lived in a tree. Not in a treehouse, IN a tree. The trunk of a great tree was the front door. Stepping inside yielded a tiny foyer and a winding spiral staircase which lead to the underground. My home was among the roots, which wove around and created the framework for my furnishings, places to sit, places to sleep. It was quite detailed and intricate, this tree home of mine.

Give me old, wise trees and a sweet, rolling river and I will sink back and breathe in the air surrounding me, feel it fill my lungs, weave through me, and bring me a sense of calm like little else can do.

Trees love to toss and sway; they make such happy noises. ~ Emily Carr

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