The Wind Nuzzles the Bark
An ancient winter oak lies on the ground surrounded by mist
There’s so much written about the miracle of new life in spring, I’ve been wondering if there’s anything I can add. The only thing that made a lasting impact on me this month was this tree, which is at the end of it’s life, not the beginning. I’ve been resisting writing about it, thinking I should find something more cheery to share with you. Well, here we are, nearing the end of the month. Nothing else has spoken to me like this fallen oak did. In winter I’m always trying to persuade people that the cycle of life is not divided neatly into four seasons and there are signs of new life in the darkness. Now, I am captivated by death whilst surrounded by an explosion of life in the hedgerows and forest. You can’t have one without the other.
I was stopped me in my tracks early one misty morning by this ancient oak, stretched headlong. I went up close, fascinated to see the parts that I would normally see only from below. Looking at the huge branches snapped like bones, jabbing into the ground, I imagined the sound of it falling. In the damp foggy silence I heard the air fill with groaning and creaking followed by tearing, crashing wood. The tree seemed to me, to be winded, surprised to be lying on the earth.
As I stood by this fallen giant, a faint breath of fresh air slips across the field and nuzzles the bark. Only when it reaches my face do I realise my cheeks are wet with tears. The air strokes us both, gently rearranging cobwebs in the creviced bark, whispering soft sounds into nooks and crannies. The breeze flicks a few stray hairs on my face and cools the tears, taking the moisture back to the sky.
I lightly pinch a branch, the thickness of my finger and the tip snaps off cleanly, so I know the tree is ready to give it to me. I carried it between forefinger and thumb all the way home. I can’t put into words the feeling inside that insisted on being noticed that day, but I know the oak tree helped to give it the space it wanted.
If that melancholic reverie hasn’t put you off, you might want to join me on a guided walk next month. There are sure to be moments of awe and wonder and you’re extremely likely to feel more relaxed. It’s less common to find yourself weeping at a fallen tree, but there’s room for everything in nature.
Forest Bathing for adults working in Creative Health
Connect with nature, using evidence-based creative and mindful techniques to improve your mental health and reduce stress.
This event is aimed at adults working, freelancing or volunteering within the creative health sector; from occupational therapists to volunteers within recovery services, if you are using creativity to support others wellbeing then this is the place where we can support you.
Forest bathing or shinrin-yoku is a Japanese practice of immersing oneself in nature intentionally and quietly to improve health, reduce stress and boost immune response. No water involved (unless it rains!)
The April WoodSong meditation is all about turning within to explore your own ‘essential nature’ and responding to the inner call for freedom or growth, inspired by the birds and animals who effortlessly follow the call of spring.
WoodSong is recorded in a forest in West Yorkshire each month. The sounds and atmosphere of the woodland inspire the guided meditation, led by Rachel Massey a qualified mindfulness instructor and wellness expert.
On purchasing you will receive a secure link to the MP3 sound recording which will last 24 hours after your first download. You can save the MP3 on your device to listen to whenever you like.
The full video of this meditation with introductory guidance is also available in Nature Fix members area.
Thank you for reading! I am offering all my supporters a free download of this month’s WoodSong Meditation, recorded during the dawn chorus at the beginning of April.