Forest Reverie by Leah Black
Airily I traipse the labyrinthine underwood of cream and mauve flowers that sway in pristine stillness. Healing essences of damp bark, wood sorrel and woodbine in bloom rise from soil and rue under my leathered feet. Sunlight strikes wet slate and silver branches of family unknown as I enter a state of awe—what beauty! A liminal hazel tunnelway defies materiality so I proceed through its tempting arches, where humidity fluctuates dramatically; an open warren of green axis mundi. The transformation of scent and heartfelt transcendence shifts me from one realm to an-other in a natural ceremony of wild pure presence.
Along the way to nowhere, abandoned forest cabins laced with cape-red berries host tempting ruins of crumbled, once-functional bread ovens. Traditional scents from their fallen stones and rotting beams seep directly into my imagination. Oozing memoirs of warm honeyed loafs and buttery plaited delicacies rise from the cobbled paves into my heart. I can almost hear the clattering of ladles in soup-filled cauldrons echoing to the laughter of boiled broth overflowing onto steaming charcoals. I wake hesitantly from the time-slip of my daydream to find myself sitting in an enchantment of forgotten shambles and barb-wired holly.
Looking out of a collapsed window I see toadstools that seem to hold space for fiery encircled story. How I wish I could stay here forever with values of a lost animistic past. No grinding of souls into electrified concrete barriers and tarmac roads. ‘This life is important, though. It has a reason.’ I whisper out loud with fervent dedication. ‘Hold your tears during these difficult times; the now is imperative; it is irreplaceable, like a smile with true peaceful potential that must be relished.’
These words of inspiration seem to hit me like a Mesolithic arrow penetrating the flesh of my mind. Pocket journal in hand, I lean against an age-old oak, writing down those words of energy to the lulling rhyme of a fern-veiled stream and view of an erratic shrew amongst marsh marigolds. Feelings of rarity rise within me, enriched by the caressing tone of velvet birdsong. A rogue watery drop of verity escapes its inertia from a vine coiled around the tree that embraces me. It descends the tip of its waxy leaf right into the median of my temple. I’m blessed to be held in the centre of communicative bewitchery; the forest of epiphany, the grove of stories, the coppice of sincerity.
I step further into the depths of rising mist and changing air, relishing this waning moment of peace, charmed by the euphonic delights of goldfinches and medicinal scratches of Ruscus aculeatus; a sweet scarlet Pettigree. Once under the stance of woody giants, I bow in respect to leaders of future and past, headed by an enormous beech tree that emanates an air of deity.
Something overcomes me, and I fall in reverence to my knees. Inside the open walls of this balanced chlorophyll palace I am in the presence of existence unique. The hairs on my body respond to silent orchestras of visible darkness and light. Follicles shoot up to attention along my forearms like ivy seedlings on a mission to ascend the mast of my spine. Are they attempting to reignite my inner-knowing? Alongside my left shoulder, satellite tendrils of lichens pierce the forest air from a partially naked Hawthorn. They seem to await the same ethereal signal as the keratin spires on the back of my neck rising in ardent prayer; like needles on a pine tree reaching outwards and upwards to the heavens.
I do not fear the rising dread of modern-day conditioning. In the forest’s love, integrity and lore, a thousand beings intricately, independently intertwined hold me safely in their verdant arms. In my stance I believe that the chills I feel are buried communicative abilities. I await the Forest’s revelation of the extraordinary. Atmosphere breaking, primeval senses reviving; and thus, I drift into a forest reverie.
Leah Black is a wanderer and journey-teller by soul who is captivated by spiritual ecology, wilderness, mystical experiences and cultures of past and present; elements which are faithfully unified into her devotion for writing and research. She explores ancient sites and isolated sacred 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 post-graduate qualification in ecology and spirituality and certifications in environmentally-based therapy and natural mindfulness amongst dusty gatherings of other papers and accreditations. She has delivered a rewarding medley of environmental, personal-growth and informal-education programs throughout her 22-year community and Nature connection career and more than a decade of soul purpose coaching.
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 and solitude, 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 and embraces as spiritual nourishment for others to experience.
