The Forest Bath
Photo collage of the hike on Mount Sequoyah’s trail, November 2024
When the world is too loud
Or too demanding
Walk to the trailhead
Where the man in the North Face jacket
Forgot his phone but had his dog
And wondered if he’d make it off the mountain before dark
And if he’d get lost.
Take the sidewalk to the pavilion
And then down the dirt trail of earth
Covered by the leaves
Like a paint swatch — more shades of brown than seem possible.
Cross the dry creek bed
That will hold snow in the winter
And water in the spring
But for now, waterless, shows the forest’s veins,
A path for the water’s flow that will come.
Look up to the bluest of skies
To see how small you are
And how the living, breathing forest
Survives the day without anxiety or rumination.
See the four orange leaves that are left
In the brown-grey branches of the pre-winter trees,
Waiting for the gust of wind
That will send them sailing
To the forest floor.
See the trees that fell in the woods —
Reaching the end of their existence
Without pomp or circumstance
And wonder why they fell at the angle they did.
Dead wood composting on the forest floor.
Yet among the death there is new life
The tiny mushrooms in the damp soil
The fungus on the dead branches
Seashells on the bark
That remind me of that trip to the California beach
With the breath of the ocean waves
Coming in, going out.
The same breath of the Arkansas forest.
Say hello to that one cardinal that visited
As we stood over the memorial in the woods
A cross in the dirt
His name, the dates of his life
Written in chalk on a rock
For someone to remember.
And the nests high in the trees
For the grey squirrels that
Scurried in the dried, crackling leaves
Their noise like a thunderclap
In the stillness and quiet of the November forest.
And the ten minutes spent in the silence
Listening to the woodpecker
And his repetitive beak-banging
That reminded me of the metaphorical head-banging that I do
Breaking through the silence of my own thoughts.
Stop at the tall tree, powerful and bare
And see its offspring adjacent
Young and clueless, growing straight and proud
Without all the self-inflicted baggage of human parenting.
When the forest bath is finished,
Descend the mountain and pass the young tree
Only one branch
Proud to display its six red leaves
Not yet giving in
To its first colorless winter.
Turn at the broad green bush with the small red berries
Nourishment or poison to forest creatures that will know the difference,
Still in tune with nature.
Pass the rock with the marks on it
A fossil from some unknown time and thing
Making a mark in the forest,
As if to say
I was there
And I mattered.
The advice and opinions herein are by no means meant to be a substitute for professional medical advice. Please contact your personal physician, mental health provider or health care professional for medical advice. Opinions are my own.