I went for a trek in Acadia in Maine, along the Northern coast, in a light cool rain – and no one was on any of the paths through the woods.
You could hardly be closer to nature.
In the difficult places, in the woods, you have to pause to walk, to move more carefully, to pick your way.
I found inch high purple orchids, slightly agape, hanging in an array, against a seeming wall of wide green leaves and stems.
We have sights like this here at home but not everyone appreciates what we have.
There were large patches of soft green-white moss beneath my foot fall in Maine, and tender fibrous growths clustered on obstructing over-hanging limbs.
Where there wasn’t moss on the forest floor, there was what had once been vibrant flora, flattened dead tree limbs, pressed moist leaves and branches, fallen by age or wind or the brush of a deer, or even another human passerby.
We don’t have to go anywhere to have something like this in Western Loudoun but too many don’t appreciate what we have. Continue reading