After work today, I headed in another direction away from the place I now call home and was rewarded tenfold for the effort. What I had originally thought was merely a park, with benches and picnic tables overlooking a pond, proved to be so much more.

Upon arriving, I parked the car and started walking along an asphalted trail that eventually intersected with a dirt path that went off into the trees. Suddenly, I found myself in a dense wood abutting another smaller pond. The lowering afternoon sunlight reflected on the water’s surface, momentarily blinding me. As my vision cleared, I was given a gift I’d never expected to find there.

Three turtles were perched on a partially submerged log, sunning themselves. A few feet away across the pond, another log held another dozen or so turtles, all perched in a row, their dark green shells glistening in the sunlight. Further along the pine needle-strewn path, I spied several more turtles on yet another log, basking in the warmth.

And then, as I turned to proceed deeper into the woods, I heard it, the unmistakable sound of spring that can be made by only one creature: A peeper.

I stood rooted to the spot, listening to the sound. I heard first one, then another, their voices joining in unrehearsed harmony, and I could still hear them as I moved up a small slope away from the pond. I marveled at how quiet it was there and at the woods’ remarkable ability to muffle sound. I might have been in the northern wilds for what little noise was able to reach me through those trees.

Another treat lay in store for me as I pushed forward. Looking up at one point, I realized that I was staring directly up at a canopy made up of old hemlocks and pines. Suddenly, the wind picked up, and I heard that old familiar rushing, a sound I’d convinced myself I’d never hear again. But there they were, the treetops, swaying to and fro in the wind, sending needles down around me, releasing their sweet piney fragrance along the way.

The path swung off at one point, and though clearly marked with green slashes, I decided to save the rest of the walk for another day. I crested a small rise before turning back and allowed my imagination to run wild as to what might await at the ends of other paths that will require further exploration.

I headed back out toward the trail head, negotiating the densely rooted path and stopped to pick a wintergreen leaf along the way. Its crisp, minty flavor was the perfect end to this small adventure, and I returned to my car with a glad heart.

Nature more than lived up to my expectations today, and once again, without warning. In the space of just a few moments, I managed to step from a still-new reality into a world in which I thought I was no longer privy.

How silly I’ve been all these weeks to even think that it could be otherwise.

— Rachel Lovejoy, a freelance writer living in Springvale, who enjoys exploring the woods of southern Maine, can be reached via email at rachell1950@yahoo.com.