Faith in a Seed

This really is the best time of the year here in the White Mountains.

Yes, visual change occurs daily, the leaves have fallen, daylight wanes, overcast days feel raw and foreboding, and the rains have returned. The brooding night spreads his wings further and tends to swallow the region whole. But this…this is when the forest reveals herself. She is undressed, bare before us, quiet, oh-so-quiet, more intimate.

Why is it that the crows seem to take center stage on the tree tops right now? They are haunting with their Halloween dirges in the wild emptiness.

We’ve been exploring some newly reclaimed paths as of late. They’d been dormant for the past twenty-five years, until a group of hardy folks restored them these last few months. It’s not a huge spiderweb of earthen paths, but it’s enough to get lost in.

Lost—as in the good way.

The footpaths weave through dense groves of young trees, sprouted up where there used to be a meadow. The ways are narrow, with pine trees leaning in on either s…