The air was thick with the scent of smallmouth bass, slowly decomposing organic matter, and hints of my own blood. I had just made it to an unofficial trail through a mostly untouched region of the forest preserve, and fortunately I’d scrapped together enough plantain leaves to form an antibiotic/anti-inflammatory poultice and yarrow buds to chew and apply inside my gash to clot the wound. While on my way to the path, I’d had a brush with a monstrously large lawn mower used to cut the prairie grass down. It still ached, but I hoped the pain would go away shortly.

The ground I walked on was mucky as the river was only feet away and my hands were caked in grime from grabbing at every tree branch in order to support myself. Without grabbing the surrounding flora, there is not any other way to shuffle through the beginning of this path without risking the chance of falling over. In my current shape, I did not want to risk that.

Though I could still hear the sound of the dam nearby, my concentration on the noises outside of my immediate surroundings slowly started to fade into the background. I was immediately focused on the here and now. Ogden’s roar fell into obscurity, and soon enough the rustling of the blossoming June leaves slowly started to take over. Newly sprouting greenery crawled across the forest floor, taking up any space it could possibly occupy and trying its best to occupy that which it could not. Various fungi rose up on living trees, and the occasional fallen maple or birch tree would be overcome by a brownish green tide of mushrooms and mold. Nature’s resplendence shone all around me. I needed to push deeper into the forest.

As I walked down the path, I found myself at the place I usually wind up. A dried stream with a couple fallen trees, rocks and stones, and one or two decomposing apples with a couple holes in them strewn about. At least they were being ecologically friendly, I suppose.

I usually come here to study or meditate, and sometimes I enjoyed wandering around and attempting to reconstruct scenarios in my head about the people who left the trash here. Today felt different, though. I felt like there was something that I needed to see. I looked around for the part of the path that’s less traveled by, and I eventually spotted it on the other side of the stream next to a tree with a massive burl on it. I took a couple steps back, and I ran down the path and leapt over the stream. I hit the ground with a thud, and I pushed myself up from my hands and knees and continued down the path.

I pushed through marshy growths of tall grass and the deciduous plants of the forest floor. I crouched and waddled under a sprawling bramble of dead and dying trees. I made my way through a grove of Anise Hyssops, taking a bit of time to marvel at the purplish pink display of wildflowers. I looked towards the river on one stretch of path, and when I turned my head the other way I found myself facing one of the most beautiful sights I’ve seen in a long, long time.

A crescent shaped clearing in the forest had opened up, and in place of the trees that had previously taken up all the space was an area of tall, leafy plants covering the forest floor. The slowly setting sun shone down and lit up the whole area while a mixed chorus of bugs and birds chirped around me. Cottonwood trees took up space in the middle of the crescent, and dozens upon dozens of their little white seedling tufts floated in space. It felt like a dream. I had temporarily left the drudgery of modern life and entered a small pocket of purity. I could not hear the sounds of planes and cars bustling around me, and I could not feel the wound on my skin nor the wounds in my mind. I know for certain that this secret place fans the flame of my love.

To conclude, I will quote Will (@wild_resistance). Excuse the lewdness, I just thought the quote was apt.

“I am beset on both sides by the impotent who would rape Lady Nature and pious idiots who fight for her untouched virginity. How relentlessly these fools argue! “Nature is mine!” says the rapist. “Nature is virgin!” cries the pious. Neither listen to her sensual song, watch her writhing rivers, and taste her fruits and waters. None give Lady Nature a voice; they only incessantly yell their own. Enough! Where are her true lovers? Where are the artists of life who wish only to make love to Nature? How irreverently the masses assert their will upon this woman! I cannot stand it. Lady Nature is singing her seductive song; I do not regret to say she has won my heart.”