Annie and I loved to walk in the forest.
Neither of us were sun people. The idea of sitting and roasting in the sun for hours on end just did not appeal to either of us.
We preferred the shade and dappled sunlight of the forest. It seemed that wherever our travels took us, we always managed to carve out time to find a local forest for a walk.
In fact we did as much sitting as walking. Once we found a suitable bench or log to sit on, we could relax and sometimes spend a very long time sitting.
Silence is the key to enjoying the forest. The longer we sat quietly, the sooner the animals of the forest would make themselves known to us. We were fortunate to not run into any dangerous animals, but every other type of denizen of the shade would appear, usually one at a time. Either they did not see us, or recognized the fact that we were not a threat and therefore went about their business as we watched in surprise and at time wonder.
Some of our favorite times together began with picking up a blanket and heading out to the forests of the north. Cuddling together under the blanket, the silence of the forest could easily overwhelm. Enjoying each others’ body heat, we could sit and listen to the sounds of nature forever. The rustling of the animals through the brush and leaves on the ground, the sound of the wind breathing through the trees is mesmerizing if you just give yourself up to it.
It’s not the same anymore. When Annie died, this became another piece of life that died with her. I still go to the forests, but it is never the same as it was when we shared it together. The sounds of the forest are still there, but instead of wonder there is just an overwhelming sadness each time I visit.