the great escape

There is a phenomenon especially prevalent in the forest in which, on a clear day, light and shadow meet with such razor-sharp contrast that the sun-saturated greens emit an ethereal glow.  In such conditions, a wending path transforms from an ordinary nature trail to a storybook quest through a mysterious and magical world.

Welcome to our woodland wonderland.  Your animal guide will be with you shortly.

Our own escort manifested in the form of a gorgeous young doe.  Maisie and I had barely emerged from the car when--from no more than twenty feet away--we locked eyes with a gentle, graceful soul.  I attempted to capture her beauty on film, but mystical creatures are famously adept at evading tangible proof of their existence.  The blurry, vaguely deer-shaped result was either because of that or the eighty pounds of unadulterated enthusiasm yanking my camera-operating arm the other direction.  Who’s to say?  Our guide glanced back at us once more as if urging us to follow, deeper, deeper into the woods. Then--having successfully set us on our predestined course--like a fading phantom, she gradually disappeared into the leaves.

More than twenty years have passed since we'd trod upon the forest floor of this particular park, hiking its expansive acreage with our one-hundred-pound Great Pyrenees/Labrador, Sadie. There are marvels there in every patch of light, in every shadowy crevice, in every mirroring puddle.  We’d just taken Maisie for her final vaccine jabs for the year.  As the forecast indicated ample sunshine and a heat advisory, we rewarded our pup with this destination, chosen specifically for the leafy canopy that would oblige us with shade for much of our walk. We're glad we did. The heat beyond the protective cover of the trees was oppressive indeed.

With so many interconnected trails, we also got ourselves properly lost, but, obviously, we eventually found our way.  The alternative explanation for this post would be that we somehow managed an internet connection in the quaint and cozy hollowed-out tree where we now live amongst the ancient dryads.

Roaming outward toward the park’s perimeters, the quietude of the forest was occasionally interrupted by athletic competition or the laughter and babbling of children playing, but most of our hike was perfectly peaceful, its only soundtrack provided by the birds who carried on with their day-to-day business, whistling, as always, while they worked. Dennie spotted two baby bunnies, tiny enough to fit in the palm of my hand. Moments later, while studying the blooms of a wild, flowering shrub, the vegetation suddenly rustled. I peered through the leaves and briefly spied a pair of eyes looking back at me. Was it our guide or one of her kin? Or had I just stumbled into an ill-fated scene from Jurassic Park? Just in case, I backed away. There may not be dinosaurs roaming the earth anymore, but there have been reports of bears and cougars periodically ambling into the populated areas of these woods.

The glow whispered to us, inviting us onward, around every bend, showcasing wildflowers and trees--coniferous and deciduous--leading us past majestic western red cedars that, in one locale, had gathered in a giant circle like an esteemed council of forest elders discussing matters most urgent. More magic revealed itself: a shallow stump with purple flowers growing in an annular route around it--like a fairy ring comprised of blooming spires instead of mushrooms. As we lunched, western tiger swallowtails (or were they playful pixies masquerading as butterflies?) entertained us with their airborne ballets, and, when we'd walked as far as our feet would permit, as far as we could safely push our arthritic dog, we settled onto the bench of a picnic table overlooking a placid creek where another twinkling of wonder would occur.

The creek rippled and shimmered in the light, reflecting the verdant splendor all around us as it tumbled and splashed over a series of miniature waterfalls. After a few immensely stressful weeks, the symphony of songbirds and flowing water tugged at our worries, grasping them with fluid fingers, dropping them into the current one by one and washing them away. Camera in hand, I crept along the steep banks, closer to the creek, shooting different angles, photographing even the pooled remnants upon the rocks--memories of cooler months before the water level had receded.

Then, for the third time that day, I noticed something gazing back at me, this time mirrored in one of those puddles. I couldn't yet tell what it was. I took another photo, then another, zooming in on this latest curiosity. Still, it remained undefined. I showed the sharpest image to Dennie, and soon we were both on our feet, scanning our surroundings for the source of that...face? We found it. There, in the distance, was a hand-chiseled owl totem standing sentinel over the park. As we trekked nearer and nearer, we discovered she protected two babies as well, carved into the center of the tree's reddish trunk.

This was our great escape, and I think it's fair to say, we'd never been in greater need of one. The day was beautiful. The forest was magical. And the ending of our storybook wanderings, well that was an absolute hoot.