Paths

Seeing tracks on the ground from animals and others. Making our own tracks in the snow. Noticing and following tracks and paths of tree branches and vines twining through the snow. Trying to follow an auditory track of a bird we hear in the trees but cannot see. Using landmarks like the school, the path, to find our path out of the forest.

Looking at a path as a route or course that tracks movement. We see this in charcoal works, in the concentrated energies in some places, then the trickle-out effect where marks and energy are less dense but still there. Following animal tracks that will presumably lead us to the animal in question. Energy that attracts more concentrated attention from one, or energy that multiplies with the presence of many in one space.

How do we move along this path? How do we as adults choose to navigate our way? How do the children navigate? How do we choose to leave our energy in these places? How does our energy / our presence affect the space? Does its energy shift too?

We ventured into the new forest today, steeped with curiosity and keen to discover. We are on a mission to find deer. We know they live there, but we have never seen them in the flesh. We veer off the path, trudging through the ditch to get to the spot where the fence was down; we could easily gain access there. Mere steps into the forest, we spot some fresh tracks pressed deep into the snow. They appear so orderly and linear, one track after the other, equidistant and equal depth. Excited chatter erupts with this discovery. “Deer! Deer!” Fingers point downward and forward, as plans are articulated and routes determined. We begin to follow, searching for a new track before we take each new step. We move quickly, though, since there is an abundance of tracks in this space and it’s not necessary to search. Keep moving, deer! We are hot on your trail now!

The fresh snow gives way under our feet, causing us to slip and slide. It keeps falling, heavily at times, and we notice how its presence on the ground and in the air seems to mute and muffle the sounds around us.

We follow the path of the deer very closely, on our hands and knees at times! The tracks of our own bodies cover up any evidence of the deer beingh there. We roll over in the snow and look skyward, wincing and giggling as the snow floats down to tickle our exposed skin.

As we lie in the snow, a vivid memory overwhelms me. I am young—about nine years old—and I am standing in a snowy forest. I can smell the sweet, woodsy fragrance of cedar and pine. I hear the crackles and spits of a campfire, and as I get closer I feel the searing heat of the flames on my near-frozen skin. My eyes sting from the smoke, but I suddenly feel very warm inside. The winter campfire was my father’s surprise to me—this magical fire built on snow and ice-—and I am completely mesmerized. I’m not sure why this memory rushed into my mind at this exact moment, but I am so happy that it did. A trip down memory lane has been long overdue…

We stretch out on our backs on the forest floor. The trees look very different from down here. Fallen branches suspend themselves between sturdy trunks, creating low bridges that beckon us to crawl under. We wiggle under on our bellies, pausing midway to reflect on our accomplishment. From this angle, we spot the deer tracks again and spring to our feet. We almost forgot why we came to the forest in the first place!

The tracks veer off in two directions and we find ourselves standing at the fork wondering which path to follow. “This way!” The decision seems easier for some of us to make than it is for others…

We begin to follow the tracks from the clearing and within a few steps we find ourselves getting tangled in a mess of berry bushes and thick underbrush. We backtrack quickly and decide to follow the other tracks instead.

Thick vines twist and tangle their way up to the treetops. They beg of us to pull on them, lean on them, stretch over them. We feel the trees sway from the pressure of our bodies slouched over the vines. We tug at the vine just a little so we can trace its position on the tree. Another tug follows when we lose sight of its path around the trunk. One more tug takes our gaze to the top of the tree. Its gentle swaying is decided by us, gathered at the base, tugging on a vine.

The new snow hides things from our sight—hazards like fallen trees, water, holes and rocks. We walk slowly and methodically, attending closely to the ways our bodies move and compensate for the uneven ground. Slip. Stumble. Slide. Scramble. Steady, steady, step again…