Escape

I went and talked to a rock today. And a tree.

I drove up the gravel road through the state forest, up to the top of the mountain and a little ways down the other side. There's plenty of trails through there, and in one place, a picnic area. It was to this place I went. I parked, got out, and walked around a little, spotting a marked trail heading into the woods. It was a half-mile, it said.

I figured that'd do. I started walking off down the trail, stopping at the edge of a swollen stream. The recent rain has turned this trickle into quite a stream, and it followed several paths through the woods. There was quite a roar as it spilled over a fallen log.

I started along the creek, following the trail and realized I was just headed back to camp, so I turned back, and in doing so, spotted another, unmarked, trail, going on into the woods a little ways. This I followed, till I came to a tree that had fallen over the creek. I climbed onto this and walked over the log and across the creek, and found another trail there, this one marked.

I do not know where this trail would have led, but I did follow it for a ways, until I came to a couple of very large rocks, much larger than I, with the trail between them. A tree had fallen over the rocks - not a large one, but still, it was there. I climbed up and sat on one edge of rock, and.................

relaxed.

For the first time in years, I was totally alone in the woods, miles from another human being. Here, deep in the woods, I studied on things. First, as I sat quietly, my feet no longer rustling through the leaves, I noticed the wind. The tree tops were dancing back and forth, and there was a steady roar. Even without leaves on most trees - except the pines, there was still the moaning of the wind as it blew through the forest. Farther away, I could hear the water, still rushing over the log in the creek.

Closer to hand, I heard an occasional leaf rustling as some small animal scurried about. A cracking sound from a treetop where a broken branch dangled. Across from me, on the rock opposite, I studied the moss growing in large patches, a litchen here and there dotting a light green pad in the middle of the dark green forest of moss. An ant hurrying along on his business.

The old rotten trunk of a tree that had fallen, bridging the two rocks, was almost barkless now, and had a split a few inches from me, and there at the split, some beetle or other bug had burrowed a hole. There was a dampness in the air, a musty smell of old leaves left damp for long times.

I sat there and studied on things. There were no cars passing on the road, wherever it was. It was just me, and the trees, and the rocks, and God. In this February morning, when there should probably be snow on the ground, but instead is in the fifties, I looked down, and picked a tick off my blue jeans. I hate to destroy nature, but I've been taught my whole life that these things are parasites, and if you don't "take care" of them, they'll just continue to be parasites, spreading disease and weakening us. So I smashed it and wiped my hands off. And continued to absorb the sounds, the smell, the sights, and the feelings of the world around me, just me and God.

A little while later, I got up, and ... didn't want to continue that trail, because I knew I must sooner or later get back to civilization, so I started back - but wasn't quite ready to quit yet, so I found yet another trail, this one marked only by an occasional pink ribbon, and followed it on through the woods, parallel to the creek.

I was stopped suddenly by the sound of crying. It was more of a sob, and then it was gone, and then there again. I stood still, and listened ever so carefully. I could tell it was coming from above and ahead of me. As I carefully looked around, the trees swaying in the breeze, I spotted a dead tree, a few inches in diameter, that had fallen up against another taller, stronger, tree. And as the taller tree danced in the wind, the seemingly lifeless one leaned there, on it's shoulder. As the dancer swayed, the one resting on it's shoulder would sob.

It was kinda amazing. I am sure there's a little imagination involved in the telling, but it was what I saw. It was really just the bark of the two trees rubbing together, and the resulting sound was just like a sob, a cry. I told the cryer to go ahead and shed a few tears for me, because I am too proud to do for myself, and went along the trail, on my way.

A few minutes later, noticing that I was wandering farther and farther away from my parking spot, I turned back, but instead of following any trail, marked or unmarked, I just followed my instincts, and headed off through the woods. At one point, nearing the creek, I saw a scar on the trunk of an old oak tree. The scar was recent, by a few months, and you could see a groove in the freshly peeled bark where a bullet had grazed the edge of the tree.

Walking away from that, I saw a fallen log, with no bark, and, stepping on it to climb over, my foot slipped, and I fell. It wasn't so bad, really, not enough to knock the wind out of me, even. But, it was enough to make me remember to watch my step, to be a little more careful in the path I must follow.

I went on to the creek, and found a few places where I could cross the several tiny streams that now existed, since it was beyond it's banks. I crossed over without getting wet, and headed back to the road, and hiked back down to where my truck was parked, and headed home.