Cold, stiff, purple and yellow bruise, grips the edge of my knuckles on my left hand
Mystery and pause, why do I start to worry so quickly?
We were at IslandWood yesterday.
A place that still holds the magic I remember from 13 years ago.
Where I used to be a participant and an explorer,
Yesterday I was mostly an observer.
Teagan, age 3, was like a mystic guide, traipsing and sashaying through the forest
With the wisdom and zen of a seasoned inhabitant
She led us down the Marsh Trail, though it was technically forbidden
And we all followed, curious.
This is a trail I had forgotten about, and perhaps could hold more magic than any other in the all of the property.
She found the edge of the marsh, and knelt there softly, pensively
And we asked what are you doing?
And she said I just want two minutes. Then turned back to face the water, gazing.
Rajan, kindergartner, tentatively joined her, slowly remembering what it was to feel joy in the forest,
Though he experienced the toddler years in a different climate, and still acted like a foreigner here in the temperate rainforest of the northwest.
Then he played too, noticed how the trees ringing the marsh all leaned toward the water at various angles.
He tiptoed out on one of them and hovered over the water, playing with a log floating near the edge, stepping on and off in a little dance.
Teagan found a tree dotted with tiny white fungus on one side, and without me knowing, meticulously collected them, then clutched them in her hand as we continued our walk.
We could have wandered there forever.
As we rounded the corner heading back to the east to join the Spine Trail, I felt my inner knowing saying, this is when you just stop thinking and be happy you are here.
When in a place like this, it’s easy to tell yourself, be happy here, be here now.
They asked a few times, is there a rock monster here?
The rock monster is a feature of a trail we frequented in San Jose, at Sanborn County Park.
I was busy hustling us down the trail and dodging the rain and looking at the map, and absently said, I don’t know, maybe there is one here too?
But I am now noticing how interesting that is. That they remember such a salient feature from a park we haven’t been to in at least a year. That forest had towering trees too, and was a rare place of verdant ferns and moss in the dry Bay Area biome. So they were connecting some thoughts, signs, and feelings there had in this place with a place from our former home, in a far away place.
The thing I want to know now was, what were those thoughts, signs, and feelings? What little magic did they feel that brought them right back to the rock monster?
He was a big triangular boulder, made of a soft rock like sandstone, that had two hollowed out holes for eyes, and one big hole for a mouth. We would find small rocks to feed to him and pop them in his mouth. It was easy to feel like he was a real, living, benign monster, a friend in the forest that only children can really make sense of.
We won’t be able to see rock monster again for some time now.
But will they keep that feeling alive? Will new rock monsters spring up for them in new places we come to know?
The gift I will acknowledge I gave them back at Sanborn Park, was a familiarity with a place in nature that they could feel at home to wonder, pretend, and play in.
Which places will we come to feel at home in here?
It will have to be a place we go to plenty of times.
That is what coming home to me is, then. Finding our magical spots, and visiting them to dip our toes in those mysteries.
The bruise then, is a mark left by something out there, perhaps, telling me don’t forget to come back again.
Did I hit my hand on something, did a strange bug bite me?
I don’t remember any such sensation!
What kind of critter could cause it?
I thought I was welcome enough there to be greeted warmly by those wild residents.
Maybe I’ll return to the mantra, and try not to analyze.
Be happy you are here. Be happy you were there.
Be happy you can return there again.
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