Alone in the Woods

I am completely alone in the woods.

I am completely alone in the woods, except for the bluejays and the chickadees calling overhead.

I am completely alone in the woods, except for the bluejays and the chickadees calling overhead, and the pines and the hemlocks and the maple trees all around me, creaking faintly in the wind.

I am completely alone in the woods, except for the bluejays and the chickadees calling overhead, and the pines and the hemlocks and the maple trees all around me, creaking faintly in the wind, and the brambles that curl around their trunks.

I am completely alone in the woods, except for the bluejays and the chickadees calling overhead, and the pines and the hemlocks and the maple trees all around me, creaking faintly in the wind, and the brambles that curl around their trunks, and the ferns and the fungi hiding themselves in patience in the soil beneath the snow.

I am completely alone in the woods, except for the bluejays and the chickadees calling overhead, and the pines and the hemlocks and the maple trees all around me, creaking faintly in the wind, and the brambles that curl around their trunks, and the ferns and the fungi hiding themselves in patience in the soil beneath the snow, and the stones between them, waiting for nothing at all.

I am completely alone in the woods, except for the bluejays and the chickadees calling overhead, and the pines and the hemlocks and the maple trees all around me, creaking faintly in the wind, and the brambles that curl around their trunks, and the ferns and the fungi hiding themselves in patience in the soil beneath the snow, and the stones between them, waiting for nothing at all, and the water freezing within their fissures and pressing them always further apart.

I am completely alone in the woods, except for the bluejays and the chickadees calling overhead, and the pines and the hemlocks and the maple trees all around me, creaking faintly in the wind, and the brambles that curl around their trunks, and the ferns and the fungi hiding themselves in patience in the soil beneath the snow, and the stones between them, waiting for nothing at all, and the water freezing within their fissures and pressing them always further apart, and the air entering and exiting my lungs.

We are completely alone, these woods.

So I wander home.

Looking for more thoughts on aloneness? Read Taxonomy of Loneliness over at Survival by Book, by brilliant local writer and fellow Kilowatt Park aficionado Courtney Cook. Seriously, it’s fantastic.