Into the Woods

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It has rained every day for the past week and a half, or more. There have been a few days of partial sun, but it never lasts for long. June, in New England, is the rainy season, after all. My Mother has always said that it doesn’t become real summer here until after July 4th. It’s true. April showers don’t bring universal May flowers.

Mama and I went out to the woods this morning. The rain let up for a while, consenting somewhat begrudgingly to a few foggy spatters of drizzle instead of a real shower. We took advantage of the relative lack of falling water while it lasted, and escaped with the dog and our cameras, out into the swimming silver air and the saturated forest.

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Everything is either dark, dark brown, or dazzling, near blinding green. The trees are stained deepest mahogany, almost black, bark soaked through and dripping with cloud. The path is umber, russet, faint sienna with the fallen leaves of countless years, mouldering unhurriedly. Yet all around, above, beside, between the trees, the forest floor, the boughs, everything, all is green.

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The endless rain has turned all to emerald. It bleeds, pooling, wet, color dripping from color, shading the ground, the branches, my hands and face, the very air. All is cloaked in the virescent glow of life piled on life, growing thicker, deeper, firmer. It is so far from the Fall, and there seems no death. Ferns grow up, covering the thick bed of leaves, knee-high and running, emerald and jade issuing from the earth, or leaking into it. The sky is saturated with it, the mist, hanging in sheets and swathes of veil and shroud, glimmers faint, the color of the ferns, the leaves above.

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IMG_6597-19Small in all the green and brown, there is a spot of red–two–three. Wild strawberries the size of hazelnuts, huge and juicy, weeping their scent into the mist, whispering the faintest hint of a childhood left behind, summer days in a Meadow as big as the world, overflowing with Yavanna’s bounty. Beneath them, a young newt, still bright orange, compelled onward by internal compass, seeking some new place of water and life in which to grow up.

And to all this glory, this ache of the earth, this greening over of all that once was dead, as it cries onward, tearing at my heart and turning my hair to a tangle of raindrops and bits of twig, to all this that is good, I cling.

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16 Comments Add yours

  1. CKG says:

    Amazing mind, words, and photographs. The very definition of……”The Green Mountain State”, right outside your door.

    Like

  2. sarahtps says:

    Beautiful, Anna.
    Question: did you take those photos yourself? If so, I’m in awe, because you did very well what I’ve been trying to do pretty much since I picked up a camera. (That is, take a picture of the woods that captures the slightly magical feel of the woods.)

    Like

    1. AnnaEstelle says:

      Thanks you =) I did take the photos myself. Really, I can’t take any credit for the magic, though – the woods did that on their own. =) I have struggled to get good pictures of our woods too – it turns out that trees, in large quantities, are not very photogenic. =P But the mist was enough to soften everything, and keep the photos from looking too busy.

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      1. sarahtps says:

        Mmm, lucky you, then. I guess maybe I just found the right day to take pictures. Still, they’re absolutely lovely images!

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    2. Lulu says:

      Photoshop.

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      1. AnnaEstelle says:

        Lol. Nope. That’s straight out of the camera, bro. …Well, I did adjust the contrast, because RAW files have very little of that. But other than that, it’s straight out of the camera.

        Like

  3. mariertps says:

    HOWdidImissthis. :.( man, it makes me miss my old woods so much. Count your blessings, you lucky duck. ;D

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    1. AnnaEstelle says:

      Visit me. We can explore together.

      Like

      1. mariertps says:

        Wow you have no idea how tempting that is. :3

        Like

  4. joctavianr says:

    “It is so far from the Fall, and there seems no death.” Clever. I like the double meaning.
    The photographs are lovely too. Especially the newt ones.

    Like

    1. AnnaEstelle says:

      I’m glad someone caught that. I haven’t decided yet if that sentence, with it’s double meaning, is cheerful or dreadfully sad…
      Hehe. The little fella said his name was Sophocles. He’s adorable.

      Like

  5. joctavianr says:

    I think it’s hopeful. But all hopeful things are a little sad because hope is the desire for something different.
    I approve. Sophocles is a fine name for a newt.

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    1. AnnaEstelle says:

      I suppose so. It seems as though it should be dreadfully sad, but at the same time, yes, it does feel hopeful.
      Thanks. I thought so too. ;)

      Like

  6. Lalaithiel says:

    These pictures are so gorgeous. o.o I ditto Sarah; you captured the magic perfectly. <3

    Like

    1. AnnaEstelle says:

      Thank you, Lalaith =)

      Liked by 1 person

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