Leaves crunch under my feet as I trudge through the woods trying to find the best spot to set up my chair and take in nature. The air is cool and the breeze stings my face as it rushes by, causing the ferns to dance around me. The monstrous trees surrounding me are a blanket of comfort and peace. I take a deep breath and the sweet smell of pine and bark fill my nostrils. I glance to my left and see a small dead popple tree sticking out of the ground. It comes out easily as I give it a tug. The different grays and textures of the decaying tree are intricate and detailed. The base of it is covered in green moss which is soft and looks like grass growing from the tree.

I put the tree back on the ground. My feet begin to get chilled and the wind bites at my bare ankles. Bending down to give them a rub, I notice dozens of little green plants. Each plant is unique. Some have little pink flowers, some have rounded leaves, and others are jagged. Looking up, and this time really taking in the nature around me, I suddenly realize how diverse the wilderness is. The little plants are barely noticeable amongst the tall towering poppel, pine, and oak trees throughout the forest.

Among the lush greens of the forest are many dead trees and dried up leaves. So many grasses, trees, and flowers sprout from the decay of their fellow species. The dead stick I picked up had moss growing from it. My mind is blown to see both the living and the dead on one object. We are born, we grow, and one day die and return to part of the earth but our souls live on. From our death, new life sprouts and so on and so forth.
My grandfather was a man of the land. He was an avid farmer and worked outside most of his life. He loved to be with the nature. My grandfather grew wheat, beans, and sugar beets. Everyday he would make sure everything was growing correctly and the plants were nourished. When he passed away we returned to Grafton for the funeral. I went to walk by his fields alone. I sat in the dirt and closed my eyes and in the wind I could hear his voice. He was at peace and at home. I knew then that he was living with the earth where he belonged watching over his children and grandchildren harvest the fields he once did.

Sunlight escapes through openings that the pine trees provide and it is warm on my face. A small green plant, still wet from the morning dew, faces toward the sun basking in the light. It glistens as the sun shines, and my minds drifts into a state of tranquility.

The very place I sit is allowing me to escape from the troubles and distractions of the day. The woods are silent; silent of modern day technology, silent of the busy hubbub of today’s lifestyle, and silent of the noises of cars and busy streets. In this silence the forest speaks to me. Instead of a phone ringing, the echo of a blue jay’s heartfelt song fills the quiet wood, leaves rustle brushing back and forth, touching each other as the wind disturbs their peace.

Newly fallen leaves crunch under my feet as I trudge out of the forest and back into reality. The walk back is as beautiful as when I arrived. I feel calm and rejuvenated; sitting early in the morning doing nothing but gazing upon the beauty of this earth, and getting away from reality. I have a new sense of peace that makes me feel I can accomplish anything.