Hello, dear reader,
I wrote this piece after walking through the forest. I was in awe of the sounds I could notice once I quietened down, waited, and listened. I hope you enjoy the journey as much as I did.
Lisa x
There it was! Just ahead. I could see the grass slightly squashed down, leading off the road and into the forest. It was a little path. I stepped onto it, heading into the dense growth.
As I passed through the tree border the world quietened down. I looked down, watching my footing. Roots, old and gnarled poked out of the needle-covered soil, ready to catch me unawares. The trail I followed was faint, but I could see bike tyre tracks made by people with more robust bikes than my rusty old gem. It was no mountain bike, hence the walk.
I stopped. Soaked in my surroundings. I was fifteen metres from the edge of the road, the trees blocking any sign of civilisation. I knew from the map there was a group of houses about 50 metres away, but right here, in this spot, I was completely isolated from anything made by humans. The only hint? The track I was following. I checked the map on my phone and headed further into the trees.
Sun streamed through the branches in golden fans, sprinkling light onto the undergrowth. It was magical! I stopped moving, slowing down my breathing. In through my nose. Out through my nose. Time stood still.
I started noticing the small details. Switched on my senses.
Twisted branches of juniper glowed in the sun’s caress as the sun seeped onto the bracken covering the forest floor. A thin, glittering web stretched out between the trunk and root just in front of me. I focused on its spiralled centre, its creator, a grey, black and white striped spider, sat quietly in the middle of its masterpiece, waiting patiently for an unsuspecting meal. Only about the size of my thumbnail, this tiny creature had woven this beautiful web, shimmering and glittering silver in the sun.
It stretched precariously close to the human-made path. Did the spider know its web might be slashed by the next person riding swiftly by on a bike? Would the creator of this shimmering net start all over again if that happened, driven by hunger? Need? Biology? Such a masterpiece! Did spiders know their webs are works of art? Such beauty in these simple, intricate, highly effective food gathering tools. Beauty and practicality.
I drew another slow breath in through my nose. I closed my eyes, heightening my other senses. To capture the scent of the forest. Pine needles. Dry earth. Juniper. Sun warmed the soil and stone. Roots and drying needles from reddish-brown, twisted junipers. Barely a breeze blows into this part of the forest. Dry, sweet air. The rain, weeks away.
I took another slow breath, focusing on the sounds of silence. Oh, so quiet! The forest, holding its breath. There was no car noise, despite the road close by. A forest must be nature’s noise-cancelling apparatus. What a job it does! Needles, leaves, branches, twigs, moss, lichen, ferns, all-absorbing humanity’s clanking, clanging and crashing. The never-ending sounds of human productivity.
Scurry-scurry. Scraatch.
As I listened, I realised it wasn’t quiet at all! My breathing slowed, and my ears attuned. I could hear little noises. A scurrying, scratching kind of noise. Gentle, soft, yet persistent. Not human-made. It was far too gentle. Our large limbs make loud sounds. This was a soft scurrying of something else.
I crouched low, squatting on my haunches, tilting my head to the side. Looking now. Still listening. Just below me, level with the soles of my shoes, I saw them. Ants. The soft scurrying was the noise of hundreds of ants, going about their ant business. As my eyes adjusted to this macro-view of the forest floor, I saw movement. My tall, human body needed to adjust perspective and scale to clearly see the reality of the forest.
A forest is not a quiet place. Not really. Perhaps a different sort of quiet. A muffled quiet. Of things happening on a small scale. Business in miniature. Slower. Perhaps even more brutal than our clunky human world, as I noticed three ants dragging a large winged insect, food for the colony. Ants, moving back and forth, following paths of their own making. Several ants were going off the ant-path, antennae carefully feeling the roots and pine needles they encountered.
A thick, industrious line of ants disappeared into the undergrowth. Busy, busy. Constantly moving. Glancing up, I saw the spider hanging in its delicate web above, oblivious to the scurrying ants below. Or was it? How would I know? Maybe spiders and ants communicate. Perhaps they work together in ways we can’t see? Some kind of symbiosis. Maybe I should have been a scientist.
Breathing in, I returned to the forest, soaking up the sights and sounds of this not-so-quiet space. I stood, stretching, carefully stepping over the insect highway, moving further into the forest. I knew now to be careful not to disturb the ant activity happening on the forest floor.
I moved on with my human day, carefully following the winding path through the forest, my break from the to-do lists and tasks of the day. Armed now with the knowledge that all the small creatures of the forest were hurrying and scurrying, sitting and waiting. Doing their thing.
I enjoyed your moment of stillness listening and perceiving the forest world. It was a nice reminder of how much I love forested paths.
I’m always amused (or annoyed, depending on the current mood) by how people tend to over-romanticise nature. This one was beautiful and sharp-eyed!