Autumn Forest Symphony
I haven’t been on this trail all summer and didn’t plan to walk so far from home today. The trail marks the border between my land and the National Forest and occasionally there are hunters here, but not this early in the season. Today I don’t hear one human sound except my own footsteps and breath. With the help of my cochlear implant and hearing aid, I hear loud crunching of dry leaves as I walk.
Disco sticks close to me on quiet paws. I search for red leaves on the forest floor, but most leaves are yellow or brown. It’s early for the forest to be so dry on this usually wet hillside. Fallen leaves cover the trail.
I hear a sharp crack as I step on a fallen branch and then the crisp sound of more dry leaves. Chomp and scrape as Disco pulls at a stick with a cluster of leaves still attached.
There’s a rustling overhead as wind tousles the leaves clinging to the trees. Most of the maple leaves are on the ground here. Oak and hickory leaves hang on, some still green. Maybe they’ll turn red and yellow later.
My footsteps are quiet as I walk through a grassy area where wind blew the leaves off the path. I hear insect rhythms from the nearby swamp. The creek is dry, but the damp swamp still hosts the cricket choir. When I pass the swamp, I’m near a trail that leads me home.
I climb the hill to Vic’s cairn with gratitude for the trails and beauty here, thankful for the many walks we shared. I circle the stones while Disco sniffs the earth. This natural oak labyrinth centered on the cairn circles back downhill, so I pause and offer a prayer before heading toward home.
On grassy paths my steps are almost silent. The harsh cry of crows echoes in the distance. Branches creak as they rub together in the wind and early evening crickets chirp. The maple leaves are redder near the swamp, sharing the color I long for every autumn.
Rustling trees along the edge of the swamp whisper sacred prayers with each step. Soon the chickadee-dee-dee of the Black Caps at the bird feeder says, “We’re here. We’re home again.”
***
This post was the experiment of an almost deaf woman sharing what she hears in the forest. I hear better in the forest than with the electronic sound online or Zoom. How are you doing with sensory awareness, with hearing or vision? For a post about getting a cochlear implant, see A Healing Ritual in a Sweet Grass Bowl: Self Care for Surgery. For a post about creating a memorial cairn, see Pushing Through: A Poem for Grieving Hearts.
November 3, 2024 at 11:30 am
Jean Benedict Raffa
Your description of the sights and sounds on the trail is enchanting. It fills me with nostalgia for the long summer walks I used to take in the mountains with two generations of my son’s golden retrievers. Bear is long gone and Izzy’s hips are so bad she can barely walk. There’s something about walking in the woods with a dog whose senses are on overdrive, calling my attention to nature’s delights,—including fragrant plants, mud puddles, squirrels, mole tunnels, and bear scat—that heightens my own senses! And the quiet! No cars, no air conditioners, no white noise of any kind. Pure pleasure. I long for it now. Enjoy the season. And thank you for sharing your sensory adventure. Jeanie
November 3, 2024 at 6:34 pm
Elaine Mansfield
Thank you, Jeanie. My hearing is so damaged that I decided to surrender to focus on what I do hear. Certain sounds come through even if spoken language is muddled. I’m sorry about Izzy’s hips. For the first time, I have an adopted SPCA mutt instead of a purebred Lab and often a mutt is less susceptible to hip damage. We’ll see. She’s only five now, but by this age my last two Labs had problems and needed surgery. It’s lovely not having to think about that and I loved saving an adorable mutt through the SPCA. Because I got her at 8 weeks, she has strong teeth and a sweet temperament. It’s fun to walk with her in the forest. She sees everything, but she doesn’t go for long chases if she sees a deer or squirrel. She stays with me. Good girl. This week I focused on the last leaves clinging to the trees. I hope we get a good rain storm soon, but it’s been unusually dry and it looks like it will stay that way.
November 1, 2024 at 12:23 pm
Lin Gregory
This is wonderful Elaine – your description of what you hear and see takes me straight into your woodland. It sounds like your landscape is very dry for the time of year – a sharp contrast to our valley which has already flooded, although I’m hoping that a dry week makes it passable in places.
November 1, 2024 at 7:05 pm
Elaine Mansfield
It’s been unusually dry here after a moderately wet summer. The leaves are almost all on the ground except a few oaks and blaze maples hang on to their leaves longer. And now the weather is becoming cooler and changeable. No hard frost in sight, but there are no flowers left for the bees so I’m feeding birds again. Sending love on the Day of the Dead (leaves).
October 26, 2024 at 8:33 am
Lori
Loved this, thanks Elaine!Been w/o internet all week. Interesting, for surely.
October 26, 2024 at 11:32 am
Elaine Mansfield
I’m glad you’re OK, Lori, and I miss your beautiful images and haikus, but it’s not the worst time to take a break from the internet–even if it’s a forced break. All news-related information makes me tense and uneasy. I had computer trouble yesterday (entirely my own doing) and maybe should have taken it for a hint to take a break from any national or world news. Instead, I sorted out the issue. Sending love to you with prayers for a peaceful world.
October 24, 2024 at 3:57 am
Aladin Fazel
You can hear in the forest because Mother Nature is inside you, my dear Elaine. She’s calling thy name! Stay blessed, lovely friend.
October 24, 2024 at 12:54 pm
Elaine Mansfield
Thank you, Aladin. I hear birds and crunching leaves and my own footsteps. That will have to be enough for this body. We’re having beautiful autumn weather here, so I’ll go out for another forest walk. I’m fortunate to walk about out my back door and be surrounded by beauty and this morning a hawk. I think of our teacher Jung and how much he loved being in Nature.
October 23, 2024 at 6:27 am
Marian Beaman
Thank you for inviting me to walk with you and Disco to observe the fall forest symphony in your area. I heard and saw it all, thanks to your sensory-rich writing: I listened to every rustle and creak and caw. And I found this post a spiritual experience too, visiting the oak labyrinth centered on Vic’s cairn where you offer a prayer and remember. You and I have synchronicity this week: I write about the sex life of sago palms. You ask, How are you doing with sensory awareness, with hearing or vision? My hearing is acute but my vision is an issue. Tomorrow I get injections to preserve vision in both eyes. Even though the appointment was delayed two weeks because of the storm, I am SO grateful for the treatment. ((( )))
October 23, 2024 at 2:03 pm
Elaine Mansfield
Thank you, Marian. In this post, I made an effort to pay attention to what comes through my “weak” sensation function. Have you tried that? One of the difficulties about being sick for so long last winter and spring was I couldn’t walk to the forest cairn. I missed that sense of connection. I understand your gratitude for treatment for vision. I know it isn’t easy or comfortable, but it keeps your eyesight working. That’s the way I feel about the cochlear implant. It isn’t easy and hearing is strange, but it’s much better than no hearing at all. Much love to you as you go through another healing treatment. I’m glad you made it safely through the storm.
October 23, 2024 at 6:00 am
Deborah Gregory
Dear Elaine,
Thank you for sharing the lovely crunch and crispness of late October in your forest. It’s wonderful to hear that you enjoyed this lovely, long walk with Disco. Sometimes when I walk alone (I’m too busy nattering otherwise!), I like to listen to music in nature, particularly when walking along the beach, at the water’s edge, or in the middle of a magickal bluebell wood, where the beauty of the words and music is accentuated!
Regarding my own senses, although I have excellent vision with distance, ‘up close’ I often struggle to see smaller details. So miss out on the smaller parts of flowers, bees and butterflies, for example. Interestingly, where my ‘outer vision’ struggles with focus, my ‘inner vision’ does a grand job with its keen focus and vision. I do wonder if this serves as some form of recompense … what’s not great above, works well below?
Hmm, now that I think about it … I wonder how I could test my vision in the woods and record what I see ‘up close.’ Oh, I sense a new poem stirring below! I’ll try it out and let you know.
Love and light, Deborah
October 23, 2024 at 1:53 pm
Elaine Mansfield
Even though I’ve had double vision since birth, I adapted when I was a child. Two surgeries for crossed eyes and years of eye exercises didn’t do a thing to my vision although my eyes appear straight to others. I have an introverted eye and an extroverted eye and use the extroverted eye for most everything related to the outer world or reading. We humans are sometimes adaptable. When I was a child, they told my mom I’d never read, but I figured out how to overlook the “shadow” image. I’m grateful for adaptable vision and the ability to see small details. You can tell by my photos that I love the details. My hearing, on the other hand, is a train wreck and there’s no way to fix it. Human speech is hard and directionality when I drive is tricky, so because of where I live, I can take back roads with little traffic to almost all appointments or to the grocery store. Main thing is I can read well. In any case, I decided to write something focusing on my damaged hearing. I can also hear water and wind. Sending you love and blessings as the season changes. May all love surround you.
October 22, 2024 at 8:09 pm
Myra
It’s so wonderful that you can hear the sounds of the woods and your own breathing, which you conveyed so well in this writing! The photos are lovely. I would love to join you on this walk one day…I will be very quiet…
October 23, 2024 at 1:28 pm
Elaine Mansfield
Come for a walk with Disco and me before the snow flies. It looks like the warm weather will end soon, but it might be perfect hiking weather. I can hear the crows and bluejays but human speech is harder to work out, especially online. Zoom is a challenge, but I do better in person. I look forward to talking with you, so not too quiet, please.