Alone in the Woods
Monday morning 7 am. Tired. Could sleep for another few hours. It’s so warm and cosy under the bed sheets but I must get up. The bus is leaving in half an hour and I still need to get dressed and finish packing. The forest is waiting.
I wonder what Winnie the Pooh has to say today? I pick up the little book a friend recently gave me, Winnie’s Diary, and look up today’s date, the 1st of December.
(Swedish) Nu drar de bort, helt utan hast och skogen väntar.
Now they set off, taking their time, and the forest awaits them.
I wonder, is Winnie the Pooh spying on me?
Under the old grandfather tree I sit, huddling close to the fire. Up on the hill I look down upon the frozen face of the lake. Were it not for the light of the full mother moon, would I be at the mercy of the night of the north. Now she shines, lighting up the night, and casting her bright gaze over the forest, snowy white.
The first snowfall is yet white and pure, a glittery heaven in the moonlight.
I am alone, and I will not meet my friends for another two nights. It might be a nightmare were you afraid of the forest at night, but I for one could not be happier. Up on the hill and under the protection of the great grandfather tree, I feel at one with the forest around me.
Alone I am free to listen to the song of the wind whispering in the trees. Alone I am free to watch the first light of day and the crisp, clear blue up above.
The light hours here are few and precious, and I go about my work one step at a time. Down the hill and through the woods I go, listening for the sound of trickling water. Closer and closer the sound approaches until I stumble upon the almost frozen brook, winding through the forest. Careful not to fall, I fill my bucket full with ice-cold water.
Back to camp I go, following the path in the snow. Back to the old spruce tree on the hill, my home for another two nights. Under the tree is a secret bower with a roof of branches and snow. There I sleep like a bear in a cave, safe, warm and sound.
The icy cold water goes in a pot and onto the fire hearth. By birch bark, kindling, and fire child spark, the fire comes to life. Onto the flames goes the water pot and crouching I wait for the sound. Sound of simmering, bubbling and boiling – rejoice for the time is ripe! Ripe for magic potion spell of chocolate creamy and sweet.
Happy I sit and drink hot chocolate, warm by the fire hearth. Fire, water, shelter and warmth, what more could one possibly need?
Company yes, might be nice indeed, but I don’t feel alone in the least.
Friend I find in the fire flame, dancing by my side. Friend I find in the old spruce tree, my guardian for the night. Friend I find in the icy brook, singing her song in the woods.
Alone in the woods I am free to be. Here I am whole and sound. Free to sing, laugh and play, free to skip in the snow all day.
Home in the woods I bathe in the moonglow and watch the stars up above.
It’s a simple life.
A good life.
I marvel at the miracles all around.
The glitter of snow. Warm woollen gloves. The beauty of the morning light.