Whispers From the Trees: Turning of the Wheel

By Penny Reed

The wheel has turned, and winter has arrived.

A crusted blanket of snow covers the fallen leaves and trees. Mosquito nets and light linen swapped out for a toque and multiple warm layers. I notice that I feel gapped. It's my first time missing my weekly walks in many years. The last time I was in the woods, the concluding vestiges of autumn were in full swing. I take extra time in this greeting of the winter woods to familiarize myself with all that has shifted. The sweet smells of decay were replaced by the stark, crisp, cold winter's breath. The warm hues of the autumn splendour transformed into a skeletal, blanched canvas. The fervour of harvest swapped for the stillness of hibernation. I breathe in the transition, welcoming change and the season's beauties. 

Moving further into the forest, I notice ice pools along the path. The ice pools have unique frozen, crystallized shapes on their surface. Upon closer inspection, I realized these shapes looked like ice sea urchins, and I giggled at finding sea creature shapes in the frozen forest. As I continued, I became aware that my footsteps felt jarring against the silence of slumber. I notice that I feel like a bull in a china shop.

Gone are the soft steps that make no sound as my feet crash through hardened layers of ice and snow—crunch, crunch, crunch.

I stopped frequently, noticing how the stillness of the woods brings spaciousness and clarity to my being. On one of the pauses, I tuned into the animal tracks that crisscrossed the forest floor. A set of deer tracks looked fresh, and I felt called to follow them. The tracks moved over fallen logs, traversed small knolls and sweet, tiny depressions. I noticed how they met up with other deer tracks, and at times, they walked together and then separated.

I found myself moving slowly. I felt alert, sure, agile and graceful. 

The deer tracks led me to a clearing with a large Oak tree on one side and a grove of hemlock on the other. On the ground, there were many tiny branches laden with acorn caps. I collected a few of these branches and thanked the oak tree. I continued following the deer tracks into the hemlock grove. Once there, my nostrils were filled with the heady, earthy, rich smell of the Eastern Hemlock.

This space felt protected, otherworldly, and hidden.

I touched its soft, delicate needles and marvelled at its beauty. I explored its smooth yet deeply grooved bark and admired its robust trunk and graceful branches. Here, it was impossible to follow my original deer tracks as the ground in the grove was covered in tracks of all manner. The animals sensed the sacred here as well. The dense boughs provide shelter and its cones and foliage nourishment. I lingered here, listening to the silence and breathing in its grounding aromas. 

The quietude was interrupted by the squawking of crows.

I emerged from the Hemlock sanctuary to see what the fuss was about. It was clear that the fuss was about me being in the Hemlocks. I thanked the revered groove and moved along so the crows could have their turn. They seemed rather pleased as they calmed down once I was far enough away. I stopped and took in the landscape, got my bearings, and noticed a strange set of tracks in the snow. These tracks were fresh as well. This animal had a sizeable print with a short stride and appeared to be dragging something.

Oh, a mystery! I began following these odd prints and developing a story about who this animal might be.

The story kept shifting as the prints moved through different parts of the landscape, under and over logs, meeting up with one another at the bases of trees and then parting ways and finally coming to an end at the base of a huge White Pine. I noticed debris from the tree on the surface of the snow and quite a bit of animal droppings, too. I peered up into the canopy, and way up high was a porcupine. The dragging mark was its tail - mystery solved!

Filled with joy and childlike curiosity, I began to make my way back.

The path back to the car went through a stand of Staghorn sumac. I stopped before entering its inviting tunnel-like branched canopy. The snow in this stand was stained a vibrant pink, as multitudes of red berries had been knocked off by winter-feeding birds and mammals. The red infructescences of berries appeared like spires of a castle, peaking out from the bare forked branched treetops. These stands are lush when in leaf, and the foliage hides the berries. The soft, plushy hairs that coat young branches in the winter landscape look like newly budded young deer antlers. I entered slowly, touching the velvety branches and admiring the abundance of berries. I reached down to pick up a freshly fallen fruit spike and noticed the dozens of tiny fuzzy berries. Just then, I heard the trees whisper…

“Surrender to the Cycles. Find your Rhythm.” 

These words rattled through me. What is my rhythm? I stood amongst the sumacs, filing through my behaviours and tendencies, looking for a pattern and cycles of being. What kept coming forward was a need for more rhythm. I noticed patterns of business provoked by external pressures followed by unproductive, depleted slowness. Rhythm has structure and is balanced. It moves like a dance that flows in reciprocity. What fosters rhythm, and what cultivates natural cycles within our being? I heard the trees whisper once more…

“Routine nurtures Rhythm.”

The word routine trickled into and through me, stirring up many thoughts and opinions. I noticed an aversion that didn’t feel authentic - like the snippy ‘little devil’ on your shoulder whispering lies - spouting claims like routine is boring, stifling and shuts down possibilities. These claims didn’t track as I noticed the things that brought me the most solace are the things that are part of my routine, the tiny rituals that frame my day, some being as simple as making my morning coffee. I realized that even some of my not-so-healthy behaviours are so difficult to stop as their presence provides structure throughout my day.

Then clarity shone in like a blazing sun. 

I love routine. I thrive in the framework of its predictable nature. It provides comfort and calm in its cyclical rhythms. I realized I had pushed this need aside when I was young because routine felt boring and closed in. I threw myself into the realms of spontaneity and, quite honestly, chaos. I bought into the narrative that spontaneous people have more fun because they appear more creative and resilient. I believed that I was missing out on opportunities and a fuller life, but what I was doing was slowly silencing the subtle whispers of my body and plunging myself deeper into a state of dis-ease. 

I have great compassion for myself in this noticing because, in society, we are spoon-fed the notion that the grass is greener on the other side of the fence. That the answers to our discomfort lie outside of ourselves. That routines are necessary for children but not adults.

I thanked the sumacs for their wisdom and their presence.

I left an offering and continued on my way. As I walked, I asked myself what routines would nourish me, my family and my home. What routines aren’t helpful, and what can I replace them with?

Walking With You, Penny

Penny hosts Human Design readings and Sacred Herbs workshops. Check out her offerings on our website.