The Black Forest

At night you can’t see your hand in front of your face, even if you can feel it touching your nose, hence the name. During the day it is my refuge.

Today the fog was thick. I couldn’t see the winding road through the trees, and I pretended that the sound of cars was the traveling whispers of a far away ocean. I left the ocean to come back to this forest. Trees that have seen me cry, that have certainly seen me bleed, and that probably laughed as they watched me learn how to build bike jumps from my brother.

Today I was not in the land of concrete and shiny buildings. I was in the wild. Branches intertwined above my head with a beauty that no man-made arch could compare to, no matter how grand. The ground was soft underneath my feet as I left the paved pathway. I’m done with paved pathways. I’m ready to make my own. The fog isolated me in the forest that I love most in the world. I could not see the road, I could not see the houses on the hill above me, and I could not grasp what century I was in. I was outside of time taking in the glory of creation, and the unfathomable intricacy of it all.

Today I hugged my favorite tree in the world. A tree that I have told all my secrets to. A tree that has absorbed all the negativity that has ever clung to me. A tree that I’m sure would hug me back if it could. To be honest, I couldn’t just hug it once, but after 4 hugs I felt I could walk away. Especially since my dog broke up my nostalgic mood by sprinting back and forth and peeling out on the leaves around it.

Today I could not bare to finish the second half of my walk through the neighborhood of new houses. So instead, I turned around and went back on another path that deers had made for me, through the familiar Black Forest.

Today I could see clearly my home.


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