I went back to the cedar grove today, inspired by the brilliant autumn sunshine and the bright blue of the sky. I couldn't have asked for a better day to walk, and my steps were light as I entered the wood. So much of the sky is now visible through the trees, and there are more leaves on the ground than there are left on the branches. The aspen trees warn of winter, and their skeletal white branches look dead, although they are merely slumbering. Even the blackberries are beginning to say goodbye to the sunshine and the summer, as autumn colors begin to tint their leaves with warm yellows and oranges. The deciduous forest has it's own character, and the golden glow seems to broadcast the warmth of summer, although the air itself is brisk and cool.
As I enter the conifers, the variations on the theme of green take my breath away. In the brighter light of sunshine, as it filters down through dark needles and cones, there are more kinds of green than I have words to describe. The mosses along the ground fairly glow with neon brilliance, and the laurels and rhodies keep secrets in their shiny dark grey-green leaves. There are many dark shiny leaves here, reminding me that conifers are not the only evergreen in these western Washington woods. Much of the deciduous undergrowth has yet to succumb to the season, although there is a sense of translucence to their color, a turning down of hue, as the green begins to contemplate the yellow it will become. There are alder leaves along the trail, many of them still green, that must have fallen in the high winds that whip through these woods. They mingle with the brown and yellow spotted maple leaves that claim large swathes of territory along the trail. The light grey green of the witches hair lichen sparkles as the sunlight streams through the drops of rain left behind from last night's torrent. In fact, everything sparkles. There is a sheen of wet on everything, although the air is dry and brisk. This contrast is striking, and I stop for a moment to breathe deeply and enjoy the scent of autumn.
When the path divides, I decide to follow up on my last exploration of these woods, and enter into the cedars. I stop for a moment, to greet them, and acknowledge their ancient presence, and their stately knowingness. I remember the fear I felt last time I was on this path, and wonder at how much difference strong sunlight can make in a situation. There is no longer any sense of oppression, or invasion, or of being watched. I stride down the path, which is far more overgrown than my usual trail, and look ahead to determine which way I am headed. As I had hoped, there seems to be a clearing up ahead, which I hope will turn out to be the lake that is in this refuge. The Oregon Grape swipes at my legs, and I remember why cotton is a poor choice for hiking in these wet and wonderful woods.
I move out from beneath the cedars, and see what appears to be an expanse of water up ahead. There is a tangle of snowberries, mostly leafless, yet offering up their bright fruit to the blue sky above. I notice something odd out of the corner of my eye, a color incongruous with the rest of my visual field. I move closer to explore it, and realize that I have indeed come close to stumbling into someone's living space. A blue tarp, possibly a sleeping body; I quickly retreat and hope I have not disturbed someone in the space that they have created for themselves. I move back through the snowberries, more quickly now, and stand at the edge of the lake basin. Quietly I stand, listening. Birds call high overhead; frogs chorus from somewhere in the distance. I hear no human sounds, footsteps, or speech, and I conclude that I have managed to make a stealthy getaway. Amused, I ponder at the fear I experienced during my last walk. Had I approached this camp in the dusky light of that adventure, would it have ended so easily? I am glad I listened to my intuition, and waited until this sunkissed day to find out what lay down this path.
Circling back to the trailhead now seems like a smart move, and I descend into the dry edge of the lake bed. The lake is quite low right now; I expect that when the rainy season really starts, this whole area will look quite different. For the moment, however, I am glad of the soft mud which is crossed with animal tracks. I find several sizes of deer prints; some are quite small and some are surprisingly large. I also find what could be dog, or possibly coyote. They must come here to drink from the lake. I follow their tracks for a short while, until the mud gets deeper than I am willing to risk, and look to the shoreline for a way home.
There is an obvious path heading just my way, and I stride up it, wondering where I will end up. Soon the blackberry patch reveals itself, and I stand for a moment, soaking up the sunshine, and basking in gratitude for this wonderful world I get to explore.
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