The Power of Story

The March morning was brisk as I walked — sun rising, magnolia buds swelling, a cardinal singing — and yet I was lost in thoughts about my granddaughter, who is growing up and searching for her path. Suddenly a young squirrel scampered along a redbud branch, the orange sun glowing through his tail. I stopped, and realized I had never truly taken the time to appreciate a squirrel. I greeted him like a new friend. He paused, stood on his hind legs, and placed one tiny paw over his heart — then switched hands and placed the other paw over his heart. For a few moments, I think we both felt the connection. Then he was gone. I hope my granddaughter will always remember our connection — with nature, and with each other.

— BS

There were mornings I woke sad, not always knowing why. I would put on my shoes and walk toward the forest with a single thought, almost a mantra: trust the forest. And there it was, with all its small gifts — the morning mist, the falling leaves, the sun trying to reach through the trees, a bird calling persistently to the others. The heaviness in my body began to lift until I felt almost weightless, as if I were dispersing into the forest. And then joy came, through tears and laughter, and I could share it with the forest. One night I walked the trail in the dark for the first time, certain it would frighten me. It didn’t. I simply felt the forest holding me.

— MG, Slovenia

On my medicine walk I found a place to sit in a forest I didn’t know well — not the forest I grew up in. As I settled, I asked quietly, “Is it alright that I’m here? I know I don’t know you yet.” All at once, every tree in my field of vision began to release its leaves. They came down together with a luminous quality in the air, and I understood I was being welcomed — told I could be here, as a friend. I laughed out loud, and made a small drawing to remember it.

— EK