I leave the trail and follow a narrow deer path along the shoreline to a small, sheltered cove.
I stand very still in sparse underbrush and listen to voices echo across the water.
I drop to my knees in the middle of a stand of hardwoods.
I bring my face close to moss, bugs and fallen leaves.
I hover over clusters of soft, grey mushrooms.
I stare too long at a patch of sunlight on bark.
I lose hours to the forest.
I wear the woods home:
dirt on my knees,
burrs in my hair,
mud on my boots.