The Forest for the Trees

I have recently completed a full length poetry collection called Learning to Find. It is a work that has taken me many years to write mainly because of the subject matter.  I chose the title because I feel like I am always learning to find … something.

In seeking out gratitude, and moments which have made my heart sing (for one reason or another) I am beginning to understand that learning comes in all forms.  Maybe it’s not exactly a specific moment that triggers a feeling of thankfulness, but rather, a conglomerate – a complete set of actions that encourage me to step outside of whatever nonsense of my world and pause.  Give thanks.  Be present.  Learn to find the moment.

A few months ago, I went hiking in central Kentucky with a writer friend who is an arborist, a lover of the land, and an all-around wonderful human.  In the blistering cold, we hiked for hours, up and down hills, over crests and ridges, on the path and off of it.  Most of the trees were bare, but there was something decidedly beautiful about the starkness of the trees against the sky.  Even for Kentucky, it was freezing, but there was something so freeing about being out in the open air, near the water and the trees.  And even more, being with someone who genuinely loves the land enough to take the steps to keep it sacred.

Since November, I’ve returned to the moments of that hike, as much for creative inspiration as because those hours were so pure.  There were no constant cell phone checks, no text messages to send, no emails to read.  It was just me and E Rock, putting one foot in front of the other for hours on end.  It was simple, sure, but it was real.  And it was one of the closest times I’ve come to being completely at ease in as many months as I can remember. Maybe the lesson of that hike, and of the friendship I share with E Rock isn’t so much that it’s the constant motion that creates moments of gratitude, but the symphony of footfalls in the winter forest of my mind.