The Woodland

I feel the pull of the wood, the breath of the air, unique to the woodland. As I step into the wood, it is as if I am bathed in newness, I feel the release, as if, taking off my old skin and taking on a new one. The rich dark smell of the earth is intoxicating. The perfumes of the plants, the rotting wood and leaves and the many blossoms tease my nose and fills me with wonder. I hear the scratching of the squirrels, busy busy; the varied songs of the birds, the tiny sounds of the vole scurrying back and forth. The wily fox, waits in the distance, approaching slowly, nearer, watching, waiting. The trees creak as their tops sway in the wind. I feel the strength of the Oak as I ask to lean against his trunk, or the playfulness of a young Hawthorn. I hear the stern but sound words of the birch, like your grandmother telling you a few home truths. I feel the reticence of the Hazel, the boundaries of the older Hawthorn, though once allowed in, Her welcome is like that of a dear friend. The Yew, ah what can I say about the Yew. She or He, I have met both; not one that you would rush in upon and yet when invited in, I feel held, safe and protected, able to take a breath and continue on! How the wood feeds my soul, how it calls me when I go about my daily tasks! The deep quiet, undisturbed even with the distant noise of traffic; a peace, ancient. It speaks of wildness, of density, of times both past and beyond the now. It is unfathomable, undisturbed by our petty world that we create. There is a wisdom, instinctively, one can feel the inner knowledge. There is a sense that no matter what 'man' does, he may continue or he may become extinct, the trees know that there is more, much more. We are but fools in comparison. We are, as the tiniest bug, annoyingly buzzing around aimlessly, whilst the woodland draws up from the core of the earth, of the Goddess, the well of the ancients, the knowledge of all that is or ever will be. We are just drops of rain in the wild, untamed sea by comparison.