Musings About the Land: Forests
June 6th, 2009 | 
Author: Musings About the Land: Forests
I love the forests here; in the part of the world I make my home, I love British Columbia’s forests. Let me tell you about four of them.
This forest is mostly aspen and spruce, some pine, some larch. The conifers vie for greatness in height and color as though competing in a tree-ish beauty contest. Which shades of green on brown do you prefer?
The aspen’s leaves show the light of the sun through a delicate skin. These white-barked trees shiver, shake and shimmy, the leaves dance and branches sway.
This forest is always moving, rushing, rustling, and racing along. Driven by the air, blown by the wind, enchanted with bird song. A forest filled with birds, butterflies, bugs and moths.
This is a forest of Light and Air, a forest that springs forth from brown earth and grey shale, stretching outwards, away from the mountainside. Barely clinging to rocky faces. Seeming to leap away from the land, reaching for the sky. Chasing the birds. Worshipping the Sun.
The quivering canopy above me a testament to the divinity of Wind and Light.
To the West of me lies the Okanagan
The forest there is hotter than mine, though a different kind of dry. In the Valley of the Bear, where the lake monster lives.
Sun baked earth and bare rock show a stark contrast to lake and stream. The ponderosa pine stands achingly tall and red against a sapphire sky. As silvery sagebrush tucks itself against pale rocks, above an emerald lake.
Spiny hawthorn and cheeky honeysuckle grow side-by-side clinging to each other like companions and partners in crime. They border the path that ambles along between the brush and mountain stream.
Wild rose grows in the cool shelter of a gang of poplar and alder. Willow and birch droop and dip long fingers into cool, still pools, in the places where mosquitoes live.
Sap runs freely from maple and pine like the weeping of a wounded heart.
Lazy, hot afternoons and cool night breezes, I lie upon the sun kissed rocks and wait for the Moon.
The sand and stone and sage teach me of the Mysteries of Sun and Stone
To the Northeast of me is lies the Kootenays
To get there I must climb higher, to where the air and the water is even fresher, and colder.
Here is a forest of sweet smelling cedar, a world quietly commanded by the conifer. A wood so still and oh so silent, through fallen needles and cones I tread with a warning rustle.
In the cool and sheltering shade, a world of brown, giant trunks surrounds me. The dusk of the green forest engulfs me, but for a few golden shafts of light.
To walk through this forest is to walk through the clouds, on pristine mountains, in silvery mists.
I move through the fog, under green boughs, the smell of cedar and clean air in my breath. This forest shelters the mountain side and valley floor. It rises up and turns back again, gently spreading protective limbs out over the land.
I lean against the great trunks in the quiet, cool and seductive summer shade.
In this solemn woodland I am blessed by Earth and Mist.
Then there is the forest of my youth.
A alpine rainforest that hugs the Pacific Northwest.
A wild and wet wood that drapes itself across coastal mountains. Here where mountains root in sea and peak in sky, I feel as though I stand upon Olympus mountain top.
Moss clings to tree and rock while ferns cover the leaf litter like gentle lovers. Giant spruces shelter holly trees and flowering bushes.
The land drips, drips. Everywhere is water. The sea, the lakes, the rivers rushing towards the ocean, seeking to unburden themselves of melted snows.
Spawning salmon race up white waterways and giant slugs grease their way along woodland trails. A raven watches me from the boughs of a groaning oak, a hawk with fish in claw circles above.
Green and wet, brown and moist, fog and mist, dark and damp. Moss covered stones taller than I litter the land.
I walk in the rain, the damp rot of the forest surrounds me. All decays, all is washed away, then renewed.
An ancient forest ruled by the forces of Sea and Sky.
Posted in Bardic Circle, Life of a Hedgewitch, Musings About the Land | 
Tags: forests, Nature Witch, The Land, trees, Wildwood
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