Who shall describe the immortal life of the grim forest, where Nature, though it be mid-winter, is ever in her spring, where the moss-grown and decaying trees are not old, but seem to enjoy a perpetual youth; and blissful, innocent Nature, like a serene infant, is too happy to make a noise, except by a few tinkling, lisping birds and trickling rills? — Henry David Thoreau, “The Maine Woods”

Whenever I am in the woods, I cannot help but feel that I am in the presence of something greater than I, and yet, of which I am a part. I step outside myself and understand fully what it means to be in this world yet not of it. I never visit the woods, any woods, without knowing that I am in a place that is utterly and inherently good and where evil in all its many manifestations, temporal or spiritual, has no power. It is a world where the old and the new commingle joyously, with no argument or conflict remaining unresolved for long.

But for the songs of birds and the wind soughing in the tops of the tallest trees, there is in the forest no sound or anything that could be in any way construed as noise. It does not need sound to call attention to itself. It does that very nicely by its mere presence and design, and needs no loud or ostentatious pronouncements to remind me that it is there. And I have only to penetrate its shadowy depths to know how near it always is in my mind and heart, and how effectively it muffles the cacophony that goes on unabated just beyond its edges.

In more urban areas, nature and her green offspring do not dominate the scene as effectively and are forced to compete for attention amongst the things that we rational beings have created and deem necessary to our existence. Yet, they nonetheless persevere, quietly and relentlessly insisting on their places among the edifices and paved pathways that dot the human landscape, breaking up the bleakly impersonal asphalted terrain with splashes of color and organic touches that provide the eye with a break from the monotony.

Human creativity extends only so far in the range of aesthetic possibilities, having yet to decipher nature’s code to the breathtaking, the beautiful and the truly awe-inspiring. Just down the street there’s a small, white house that presents a picture of neatness, order and symmetry. But all that becomes second nature to the riot of color from the heirloom roses draped across the fence and arbor and that spill over onto the sidewalk. The house’s visual impact recedes from prominence as the intense crimson of the roses dominate the scene. How fortunate are we who pass this way that the owners, past or present, added this special touch to an otherwise uninspiring place! While those flowers didn’t just happen upon the scene, natural forces have been hard at work, nurturing them, sustaining them and making their existence possible year after year along this otherwise distractingly busy thoroughfare.

The world as we know it has evolved to where most of us exist somewhere in a very narrow space between the natural and the material realms. Every single day, we make choices, consciously or otherwise, that move us back and forth between those worlds and that are illustrated by the things we need, or think we need, to survive. Nature has effectively demonstrated how adaptable she is, an adaptability that has been passed on to us in our own actions and in the decisions and choices we make. Thousands of years ago, humans existed almost exclusively in the natural realm. Everything necessary to our survival came directly from the environment and was employed in its natural form. We sought shelter, food and warmth and arrived at those things by trial and error, but we arrived, and often, by some very crude means. Today, it’s all done conveniently and with great dispatch, but at what price, if it has caused us to turn a blind eye to how it all began?

We label our modern innovations as progress, and that’s not a misnomer, generally speaking. Progress is taken from the word “progression,” which is defined as “the act of advancing,” an act that requires that each step is somehow related to all those that came before and that come after toward a definite goal or end. Eventually, however, the word’s definition extended to include moving from something less desirable toward something preferable, more convenient or efficient. But there again, its basic meaning is simply to move forward, which implies a destination, and not necessarily toward something better or more practical; and we would do well to honor from time to time the instincts for survival that still exist deep in each and every one of us whether we choose to make use of them or not.

Aside from the sense that I am dwarfed by my surroundings when I am in the woods, there is also the feeling of being part of something inherently orderly, where nothing is out of place, and where even the seemingly most innocuous object or confused tangle of vegetation is logical and has a job to do. No worldly cares assault me at those moments, and in actuality, I don’t think much at all when I’m in the woods, for it’s almost as if they are doing all that for me, which leaves me plenty of time to do what I love best ”“ gazing in awe at things I’ve seen a thousand times before but that always leave me feeling as though I am seeing them, again, for the very first time.

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