The world is a bit of a dumpster fire at the moment, and I don’t get to drink about it anymore. Instead of catastrophizing myself into an anxiety spiral, I’m posting one of my first creative writing exercises I embarked upon in the woods last Summer.
I wrote this on a couple of hikes around Ketchikan, Alaska, fresh after reading my favorite book - Being With Trees by Hannah Fries.
I took her meditations into the woods and woke up to a whole new world I never knew existed. I’ve been on hikes before, but now each individual pine needle on the ground is a microscopic ecosystem leading us to many synchronistic natural wonders that harmonize our small existence with the greater cosmic whole.
It was somehow better than being high. (Trust me, I would know.)
Here are a few of the characters I met along my way….
Dragonfly
Swaying in the breeze like a tree
The dragonfly purrs along, a tranquil feline,
Except constantly on the move.
Lunges a bit here and there, also cat-like.
Pausing mid-vibration like a hummingbird.
Big and bright blue with greenish brown face, bulging.
Long slender body braided black and cerulean.
They creak a bit as they skid by,
barely skimming the surface,
constantly investigating.
Occasionally plopping into the water for some purpose,
hunting or being hunted,
a quiet gulp from a fish,
or a small stone being relinquished to the ripples.
Caterpillars
Dangling on threads like macabre streamers,
twisting and turning, trying to crawl up.
Not succeeding.
Tortured panic. Or building a web?
Or blessed envy, swaying so freely in the wind?
Homage to the Giant Slug:
I creep along, sliming the earth,
each slick layer protecting us both.
I have fear that I might dry.
I might not be able to slime.
Or something could kill me, squish me, I could suffer.
I cannot move quickly.
I’m going nowhere fast.
There’s nothing I can do but continue on or stop.
Keep calm and slug along 🐌
Rainbird Trail:
I make my way through town and over to the University of Alaska Southeast Ketchikan Campus Rainbird Trailhead.
The trail moves up the mountain in a series of complicated switchbacks that bested me after almost an hour alone, heading into sunset.
The steep growth and windy peaks make for interesting burls and topography. The silent shadowy surroundings, save for a few ornery ravens doing their best impressions of a horror movie. They like to mimic babies crying, faucets dripping, cars honking, animals screeching.
As I walk alone in the forest, I hear an old wooden door creak open ominously, the sound of nightmares. There aren’t any old wooden houses or sheds with old wooden doors nearby. I chalk it up to a Trickster Raven or a Trickster Spirit, perhaps one and the same, either way I’m cautiously intrigued.
The dense trees are furry with moss and twist menacingly into ghostly shapes.
Reminiscent of the shrubbery at Stephen King’s Overlook Hotel, make way for the haunted parade of mossy beasts:
The Sloth, the Tiger, & the Bear
So spellbound by the Forest that every benign mundane detail is pure magic.