Stepping onto the trail with a shiver, I am grateful for my windbreaker and zip-up tight. A quick survey of the woods indicates that everything is brown and dead. I knew it would be. It’s mid-November in Illinois. Regardless, walking in the woods grounds me, even if it is lifeless and cold. I settle into a rhythmic stride, relaxing with the wind at my back. Within a few minutes, I am able to look more closely and see infinite shades of brown. I note the varied textures and layers of foliage, dense weeds, spindly young trees that might survive the winter, and giant trees that have seen many more winters than I have. I see skeletons of plants and flowers. They are delicate yet remain intact in the harsh wind. I realize this forest isn’t dead. The plants and trees are dormant. The foliage is dead yet still has a job to do. When it falls to the ground, it will insulate the roots for a time and then break down into compost to provide the forest floor with rich nutrients.
I am reminded that there are cycles in Nature and realize I am relieved to see the dormant forest. This happens every year. It is predictable. Reliable. It is a constant in this chaotic Covid world. The dried-up skeleton of a flower reminds me that a supple little bud will replace it in the spring. There is a lot we don’t know right now. Here in the woods, there are things we can count on.