Voices Speak When You Enter Their Acres

“All forests have their own personality. I don’t just mean the obvious differences, like how an English woodland is different from a Central American rain forest, or comparing tracts of West Coast redwoods to the saguaro forests of the American Southwest… they each have their own gossip, their own sound, their own rustling whispers and smells. A voice speaks up when you enter their acres that can’t be mistaken for one you’d hear anyplace else, a voice true to those particular tress, individual rather than of their species.”
― Charles de Lint

It’s true what they say that no two woods are the same. And these woods, the ones that my home is carved into, have been sparking my curiosities and imagination. These woods have captivated in me in bewilderment as I watch the many different ways the light behaves through its canopies.

The light streamed as spotlighted beams in the summer. The leaves glowed bright yellow, red and orange hues, as if they were on fire, in the height on the fall. Now the light has taken on this dreamy, blue enchantment.

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It almost feels akin to the beginning of a romance. A getting to know you, understand you, phase. I don’t think I have ever seen light and shadow intertwined like this before. And it has me bewildered and entranced to the point where it is hard to walk past a window and see it, and continue working on whatever I was doing in the first place.

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It is the end of the glory days of the October wood. I wonder how the forest will speak, what it will whisper as November alters her appearance even more so in preparation for winter. I also can’t help but wonder if I will get a chance to see the bears again before they go to their winter keep.

K

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