One of my favorite things has always been walks in the woods. In High School, before the freedom of a car, I would often escape into the woods, exploring the Indian paths, the high wire tension bridges and explore decaying homesteads. I often hiked alone. I'd quietly tread the paths, follow the fence posts along the edge of a farmer's field. Sit in the tall grass and write, breathe, watch the midwestern clouds and dream of being someplace different. The forests protected me. Gave me a place to hide, to explore, to be alone with nature. On rare occasions, I included another human on the trail.
I'm in Colorado visiting my Dad for the Holidays. Today he took me on one of his favorite hikes. It was up to an ice fishing lake in the Front Range of the Rocky Mountains. I enjoyed this time with him, hiking through the red soil, my boots crunching through the snow. The trail was filled with pines, eroded granite rocks. I breathed in the cold, fresh mountain air. Happy to be out, moving around, walking up a mountain, explore a new.
When we came to the lake it was mostly frozen over. I stopped to look across the glittering whiteness. The sun was blazing down and I heard the silence, like snow falling. The wind in the pines. Whispering. My feet crunching softly through the snow, padding like cat's paws on the dead grasses.
It's being out here, in this space, the cold Colorado Winter Mountains that I love. Being in nature. Not just seeing, watching, experiences, but be-ing. Connected to the mountain, breathing the air, watching the snow skimmer down from the high rocks on the wind, the pines whispering. Calmness. Complete and utter calmness. It's this I feel, I love when I am out in the forest.
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