Now is the time of year when things get dark and wet and quiet in the forest. When the tall dead stalks of the Joe Pye sway in the wind hoping to loose some seed in the blustery wind. When the mud is thick along the trails and the fallen leaves, once green, then yellow, turn to brown and black. This is when I search for the Wild Heart of the Forest.
I go out to sit, and listen. To the wind, the river and my own breathing, harmonizing with the chilling world. I go out to wander, and look. To the tracks, the trees, and the stars peering down from a distance unfathomable. I go out to be with the world, a wilder place than my home, a place I long to know more.