The Touch of Kinship by Leah Black
The ancient wooded path, sharp with afternoon summer light, was arduous and rewarding to walk as always. Draped with edgy stone shadows, lined regally with grass as beige and crispy as bailed hay, adorned with red clover, daisies and dandelion. Tiny stones massaging my soles as chalk white butterflies flutter like confetti over a bride. The sheer ascent of the path feels softened by Nature’s beauty; sharing her language of love and encouragement for my sticky climb. I articulate gratitude from the depths of my solar plexus for her exquisiteness. Silence fills the air, broken only by a cascade of dusty leaves and the pleasant drip, drip of water. The stream meanders serenely, its sun dried liquid navigating satin corners. Soothing bird song echoes through rusty air as a warm breeze strokes my bronzing skin. Beckoning them sweetly, a hoverfly lands on the tip of my outstretched hand. Eye to eye, I say hello little friend, thank you for your company.
Ethereal space I sense amid branches and above mountain peaks framing a sapphire skyscape. Valleys holding memories of ancient ancestors’ feet wandering the liminal land. In a sphere of speculative wonder, I ponder a time when we were one with Nature; affinity, moons and movement. In this moment I feel as though I’m walking through a story, whispered by trees, rooted deep into my heart. Could oak and hawthorn really have liked Wordsworth’s ‘Tintern Abbey’ that I shared so full of animated energy last week, or the seashell and apple I offered with a bow of appreciation? I contemplate, does my expression remind them of the pleasant sound of Celtic people’s stories, Neolithic songs or sweet woody music playing from the past to the dancing patter of shoeless feet? Maybe now, in this moment, the trees are sharing their stories, their memories, so selflessly and gratefully, in return with me. A friendship sprouting like no other as I initiate into the autumn season of my age. Like Nature herself I’m awaiting to shed old ways in this passing summery phase of midlife. Akin to me, she awaits the arrival of colourful wonder and the fall of needless detail. Innocent and bare again for winters’ diamond arrival, holding tight only to water, love, mineral and wisdom. I sense we’ve connected, mirroring our natural cycles as one.
Walking through rustic woodlands, I touch the twisted chestnut bark of a dear old face, familiar from my hundred passing hikes. A glorious olden presence, holding dateless memoirs within. A delicate energy trembles through my fingers. When I embrace the tree, I’ve fondly named Dungarven, the tree holds me. Trust built through time. No longer a stranger’s greeting, but communion and care; like being held in the arms of a loving grandparent. I wonder Dungarven, how do you sense me? As I open my eyes the vibrancy of colour, the frequency of energy in a sense of wonderment shifts around me. Land brighter, clearer, an otherworldly paradise, right here, manifesting like a picture I’m being painted into. My breath taken away in awe; absorbed by effervescent jade, as I gasp the gift of life from plants into my walnut-like lungs. I trust I’ve been invited to peek into the veil in-between.
The tender touch of connectedness and kinship feels like whispers of unconditional love emanating energetically from soil-dwelling mycelium. With childlike curiosity, I know I am seeking what seeks me. So I continue to walk, smiling at the spicy smell of forest fruits, scented like hot sugary pies cooking on pear trees. Taking paths, long forgotten, into the wild unknown, guided fruitfully by nature into looming lands of so called beasts; my Nature allies. Trusting trees and sacred stone will keep me safe, the footprint of a bear only reminds me where I am. I’m where the Nature spirits roam, I think out loud, as I tenderly stroke the velvet surface of a stinging nettle in my forward pace. Following, without doubt, a single silver leaf shaking like an animate arrow and a vine blazing unearthly gold, luring me towards the distance. Intense rays of light illuminating rocks that guide me to the next stage. I recognise these signs are leading to secrets, unveiled before my eyes. Jumping in and out of sensory liminal space; dark and light, water and ground, glade and forest, passing through a natural wild rose archway. The more I play, the more I believe, the more is revealed. A world existent all along, but unseen, unaccepted. Giving my human mind, dominated by modern distrust and fear, the affirmation to see, to sense, to believe, to feel safe. Everything I loved as a child, faun and fairy folk, tales told, talking with trees, is becoming non-fictional; a friend, not as imaginary as I was led to believe! After all, what is imagination? Thank you for trusting me with your secrets, and for keeping mine safe within caverns and grottoes of your miracle. With gratitude my dear friend, have a good night. I’ll see you again soon.
Leah Black
Leah is a wanderer and journey-teller by soul, who is captivated by spiritual ecology, wilderness and cultures of past and present; elements which are faithfully unified into her devotion for writing. She explores ancient sites and isolated places weekly, whilst purposefully getting lost, alone, in mountains and dusky forests, where she can be found sitting by a stream or under a dark sky, writing with Nature by candle, sun or firelight. Leah has collected a degree in wildlife conservation, a PgDip, ACTP and an environmentally-based therapy certification, amongst other dusty gatherings of papers and accreditations. She has delivered a rewarding medley of environmental, personal-growth and informal-education programs throughout her 20-year community and Nature connection career. Leah has harvested an abundance of stories from afar, whilst living in Ecuador and during her many months venturing Uganda, Kenya and Zambia co-creating sustainable youth-led projects. She originates from a flat, unassuming Northern edge of England, but now lives upon a soul-stirring mountain peak in Northern Spain; weaving her Celtic roots across waters. In this enchanting spot, of breath-taking beauty, she is inspired by her kind-hearted neighbours, like bears, trees, swallows and stone, lichen, ferns and wolves; where her natural allies emanate energy into words that Leah, in receiving these wonderings, shares through her writings.
