The towering trees have stood here for years, some for hundreds of years. As I walk through them, I absorb their certitude. On the side of a stump farthest from the trail, I spy artist conk mushrooms. I walk around to get a better look. I stand on my toes to see the dark tops of these huge fungi, their white undersides burgeoning like a frog’s throat mid-croak.
Walking this trail in early spring is always a source of wonder and delight, as leaves emerge on dormant trees and plants begin to bloom. The yellow tip of a skunk cabbage is peeking out from the tall green fronds. A salmonberry’s pink bloom hopes for the pollination of a bee, and I see petals from other buds have already fallen to the forest floor.
Today’s walk feels particularly therapeutic, perhaps from the calm-yet-persistent rain, the predictability of the familiar path, or maybe the regenerating plant life of early spring. I feel the welcoming embrace and reassurance of the forest.