I ride my bicycle to get to my clearing. I’m not very fast or very strong, so the ride takes me forty minutes, but it’s a nice feeling to coast down hills towards White Clay Creek, although it’s a chore to get up those same hills on the way back. By the time I get to the clearing, I feel exhausted, and I lay down in the center, head rested on my backpack, closing my eyes and breathing hard. My legs feel like fallen trees as I listen to the sounds of the forest, trying to let my body calm down to match the tranquility around me.
As I’m lying there, I let my ears explore the surrounding forest as my eyes rest themselves. I can hear bird calls in the distance, each one rising in pitch. I saw some birds on the bike ride, but they all fluttered away as I pedaled past, making me feel guilty for my disturbance of their foraging. A goose flies overhead, wings flapping against the breeze. I open my eyes after I hear it, just in time to see it pass across my vision and continue heading north. The creek babbles to the east as I wonder how far that bird had traveled in a few short months, and whether it’s body ever tired as much as mine had from the bike ride.
After a few more minutes of listening and resting, I get up to explore the clearing. I fish the hand lens I bought last week out of my bag and begin walking around, looking for anything big or small that would draw my attention. The first thing that strikes me is the creek. It’s greener than it was last week, when it had been brown and turbid. Now, emeralds mingle with the sediment, promising the return of greenery and life to the area. The clearing seems to mirror the river in its colors. A few of the thorny plants scattered near the edges of the clearing have sprouted green shoots. As I sit back down and examine the leaf litter, I notice some plants sprouting up among it, some poking through the leaves. Small lily-pad-shaped leaves emerge from the sedimentary layers of litter, barely unfurling to catch what little sunlight filters through the grey clouds above.
A plane and a train cut through the solitude of the forest a few minutes apart from each other, prompting me to get up and continue exploring the clearing. The tree I was so fascinated with last week has lost some of its polypore fungi, possibly due to last Wednesday’s snowfall. What I assume are the mushroom’s remains lie in a strange muddy heap at the base of the tree. Near another of the clearing’s trees, I examine a leaf sprouting from the forest floor with my hand lens and discover that it wears an armor of spindly thorns, ready to cause discomfort to any creature who deigns to eat it. Between this leaf and some of the thorny vines arching up from the forest floor, this clearing seems well armored against the assault of the coming spring, waiting for an army of herbivores to march in in search of food. While examining the forest floor a bit more, I notice that part of this army has already been here. Four piles of deer scat lay along the circumference of the clearing, the only evidence of four-legged animals I have seen thus far on my visits. I find myself tempted to spend a Saturday sitting in the forest from dawn to dusk, as still as can be, to see these deer visit the clearing.
As I leave the clearing, I find myself mourning the fact that I can’t visit more often, that I must devote at least two hours of total time and a huge expense of energy just to spend half an hour in the clearing. I wish I could come here to relax without my legs yearning to join the decaying logs of the forest and the constant pain my body experiences drawing my attention away from the beautiful ecosystem surrounding me. Being fully immersed in nature is a luxury my body no longer grants me, and I find myself yearning for a moment of immersed bliss as I bicycle away.