The softness of a feather
Alone, standing at a crossroad in the forest, she had to stop. The stop was necessary to breath: gasping, heaving breaths, leaning forward, fingers gripping strongly into the tops of her knees, arms straight. Her heart thumping loudly in her chest. She tells herself to force that inspiration to be deeper, still its laboured, near desperate. Trying to go deeper and slower. It’s a conscience effort but it’s working.
The point up to now was an incline. One you don’t notice when strolling. Today wasn’t that kind of day. Today brought a kind of urgency. Passing quickly along this familiar route. Walking had been at a faster pace, much faster. A powerwalk. Arms were pumping to get assistance into the speed and energy.
Like other times in one’s life, this crossroad brings a moment to make a decision. Feeling lost, so many emotions were in her life, making a simple choice of left, or right seemed to be difficult. One track was part of the normal circuit, the one where her faithful companion would stop and sniff every tree, blade of grass till a gentle tug of the lead brought her on further until again she stopped to sniff. Looking at that track brought with it a flood of memories.
Now this faithful soul is off chasing squirrels amongst the clouds. Missed deeply. This companion, the one who was there as her motherhood shifted beyond the calls from her children. The shift brought the changes she didn’t recognize in her body. All these changes not noticed by this now missing four-legged friend. Her heart feels this void, her soul misses this ever present, accepting shadow.
As the efforts of the chest steadied, arms now lifted on to her hips, standing up straight like a woman with a purpose.
Really, she wasn’t, it was more a question of just trying to move from this feeling that your lungs will burst.
Being steady let the senses take in the sounds, the smells, the moment.
So now where to go? Left and return to the usual route, straight to the place too far or right where the beech trees stand tall.
Before moving into the next time, just an instant from the last but could have been a life time. She turned and started off one step after another. The distraction was the mind, noticing that the fast pace wasn’t her usual speed, the beads of sweat on her forehead, that seemed to be trickling through her hair. Realizing that this wet back came from these minutes of sport. The gasping for air was a concern, well, some bit.
Was she having to face her morbidity, was this her age or was she just unfit?
She decided been unfit seemed the most logic. This was easier to do something about or was it? With this resolution, feeling reassured that it could be fixed, the walk continued on.
Been a woman in this world of bombardment on how we should be, thin, pretty, super fit, connected, eat, this or that and so it goes on and on …This woman within her every being wants the slower, non-connected, full of love life, to have the mental space to be passionate. To be with nature and these spaces when she choices to hear, feel and see on her terms.
Her pace was slower, her breathing eased now; it came with the awareness that around her was the makings of a choir or maybe it was already a choir. The bird song sang out; Mr Merlin, the sweet pitch of a Linnet, coming over her shoulder was a warbler and pal the blackcap.
You had to stop and listen.
A moment in a life that was precious and private.
Ahead were the tall beech trees, that she had hoped for but to her surprise it seemed to have a carpet laid at its feet. The carpet has a soft mossie green colour. With patches of shading from the trees above as the sun peeped through. It seemed someone had thrown out this blanket just for her to lie on. The urge was over powering. How could anyone resist this perfect moment in time, in her life. Surely, she could permit herself to take a few minutes here in this place. She found a spot to sit on.
The touch brought the feeling of cold but no, it was more fresh than cold.
The day was warm in the shade. A warmth that is restful and comforting like an infant’s throw.
The blanket before her, soft to the touch was, inviting.
She sat, then lay down. Lying flat was like opening a scape, a forest scape.
Taking in this display of a soft green, and round leaves interwoven. The rays of the sun trying hard to pass through. The expanse of foliage was natures parasol. The different lightness of green making it feel of auge with nature. It was such a heavenly place, a place to stay for as long as you can.
The wind, this wind added to the choir, its rustle has its own music, loud and soft, coming and going; like the waves on the sandy beach in a way, but not really either.
Its own magic. A soothing sound. More like a lullaby
It took her a few moments to connect the wet of her back to the coolness of the ground, but then it was ok.
Lying there on this cushion of moss, with the intense fragrance of a life cycle of the forest.
Light dampness, decaying wood and leaves covered by this blanket.
Stretching out her arms she lay in a sort of reverse prayer. An image flashed in her mind. A pilgrim face down in devotion.
Was she in a reversed pose?
She didn’t pray often now in a church. Remembering her father declaring that his God was everywhere not just in between four walls. This place was certainly a spiritual cathedral.
laying with arms and legs sprayed like a star. She liked stars, gazing up at the endless universe. Today it was not that but a different moment, just as precious. Absorbing this theatre of sound from the birds, the rustle of the branches from the wind, the colours from the ground up through the bark of the tree to its leaves woven together, the light playing games, all blending into one.
The wind, the warmth, the soothing lullaby. Her soul drifted, drifted on, and on.
What was that? Startled out of her slumber.
Realising that she had fallen into a wonderful sleep, something had woken her. Slowly lifting head and shoulders, resting on her elbows, the blurred sight passing, she turned in the direction of the noise. A twig breaking. There was an anticipating silence only there when you know you’re not alone. The protective brain worked to calculate if there was danger.
what was just before her was a mother deer and her faun. Grazing, foraging, meandering. A painting spread out just there. The mother hadn’t seen her. If she stayed still, really still, not move a muscle maybe they would let her watch. Like in an art gallery just look and observe. Time to let this moment be quiet. Be in this moment. Afraid that even the act of inhaling would break it for ever.
She wanted to move into a more comfortable position. Aching bones where she had been lying on a stone that the carpet hadn’t been thick enough to cushion her. To move would have been to lose this painting.
They wondered on down a little gully on in their route to where ever they were going. One last look of the delicate young markings on the Faun, the mother seemed to blend with last year’s fallen leaves. If moving her eyes to see anything else would make it hard to find this pair until they moved again.
Realising that if her usual forest companion on these walks had been with her, this scene wouldn’t have happened, nor would the peaceful sleep.
Now alone again, it was time to return and engage back to her walk. Taking a few more minutes, reflecting on just what had happened was good. Really good. Deciding to keep her life simple was also, really good.
Resolving that her new method of walking, powerwalking would bring the new her. Now her face turned into the positive possibility of a new fitness and back to the body she had known. No more betrayal to bigger curves and saggy parts. They weren’t hers. With a decisive determination to reconnect what her mind told her she was and the body threatening to be someone else. She liked the person that was, is and will return. With more walks in this special forest.
Nature healing and accepting. It calmed the body and soul. There was a lesser sense of been lost now.
Bringing all to that one place, that it’s ok to chase your dreams even up in the clouds.
Before that, there will be much to do and engage with, those children who return into the open arms of where they were always welcome and where all accepted each other. Into the space where her life partner admired and loved her curves, the changing of a body that wasn’t seen.
Struggling to get up, she noticed a feather. It was soft on a rock; it had landed in its natural curve. Its curve of when it has been needed to give warmth or flight to a Linnet or maybe the warbler. Both still there singing. Joined by their friend the blackcap.
This rock was on the path beside her resting spot. Rambling in and out of the small knucks and crannies of this same path were the military line of the busy ants, the tiny cleaners of the forest floor. The feather had landed softly and remained to show her life is soft when you see it. Undisturbed by the tiny army that passed by. This feather showed her that all this softness and love gave her the power to go forward. Going forward with the shadow that remains of her faithful friend, now soft in her heart.
Continuing on her way, absently searching for another feather which she thought she would bring home, to remind herself that her dreams were there, everywhere even amongst the clouds;
clouds soft like the feather.
Diana