It was a cold November morning, the world ready for its winter slumber. Trees, undressed of their leaves, gathered their strength for the next explosion of spring, still months away. I went for one of my walks, through the Foxtail Woods, past the Lying Swamp and all the familiar paths. Then I continued further — into the unknown, far enough that nobody ever goes. The mysterious, magical presence of the woods wrapped itself around me, the trees watching, quietly figuring out who I was and why I was there. Sometimes I feel the trees know more about me than I know about myself.

I was led by an unknown expectation, the gentle tingling of mystery beneath my skin. I kept walking as the woods grew thicker, no longer following any path, just wandering — feeling lost and somehow exactly where I needed to be at the same time. The soft, patient magic of the forest drew me into an almost trance-like state, where I no longer knew whether I was walking through the forest, or the forest was dancing around me.

I saw a large, ancient tree in the distance. Its magnetic presence drew me closer. I stopped in front of it, feeling small yet significant, as if standing before an old, wise teacher — humbled by my ignorance and at the same time filled with the anticipation of discovering my own potential. I felt as though the tree was studying me, its branches stretching above my head, sensing my presence like an animal sniffing a stranger.

I felt a pull to touch its bark, carved with deep, time-worn lines. The surface beneath my palm was rough, yet a gentle warmth flowed from it. A soothing energy travelled through my hand, filling my entire body with warmth. My hand remained glued to the bark; I stood there, melting into a feeling of bliss. Everything in me dissolved. I had no past, no future. I existed only in this one magical moment.

The warmth beneath my palm intensified. I opened my eyes and noticed a crack forming in the bark, right beneath my hand. Warm, golden rays of light shone through it. I took my hand off the tree and stood watching in awe as the crack widened, until it became large enough to resemble a doorway. I felt a strong pull towards it and, without thinking, stepped through the crack into the tree. The door of light closed behind me.

I found myself standing in a small forest clearing, covered with fresh green grass and adorned with tiny flowers bathing their delicate faces in the rays of the sun. Nothing resembled the cold November morning at the start of my walk. Nature was green and lush. I took a few steps forward. Everything felt warm and welcoming — the grass carried me softly, as if my feet were precious treasures passed gently from one blade to another.

I reached the edge of the trees. Bushes leaned towards me, stroking me with their leaves as I passed by. Ivy twisted and turned elegantly, like a cat waiting for rubs. Birds flirted with branches, hopping from one to another, gracing each with even the briefest of visits.

As I looked around, my gaze settled on a female figure slowly walking towards me through the trees. I froze, enchanted by her radiant presence. Her hair was brown, loosely tied up, with small twigs and birds’ nests woven through it. Birds appeared and disappeared around her head, flying in and out of their delicate homes. Her dress was green and brown, covered with moss in places.

It was hard to tell her age — she seemed young and old at the same time. At moments her skin resembled tree bark, yet when the light touched it, it shimmered, clear and lucid like the surface of a lake. She stood before me, and all I could see were her eyes, the deepest green.

In her eyes I saw ancient forests, mountains and valleys, rivers and seas, sun and rain, flying eagles and roaming wolves, bees and ants. Sensations flowed through me: the shock of stepping into a cold stream, the joy of a playfully barking dog, the soft comfort of a cat’s purr, the familiar pleasure of running my hand through fur, the moist grounding texture of soil, the cold touch of rain on my skin. She raised her hand and smiled gently, and it all stopped. Peaceful quiet surrounded us.

She spoke without words:

You belong here.
Touch trees.
Speak to water.
I am listening. Always.
You can return any time.
Your heart is the gate.

She held my gaze for a moment longer, her green eyes deep as an ancient forest. Without sound, without wind, her form softened — and suddenly she was no longer a woman. Where she had stood, a cloud of green leaves spiralled briefly in the air, turning to autumn colours as they fell, before a light breeze carried them away.

In the next moment, as if a spell had lifted, I was back in the cold November forest, standing beside the old tree. I couldn’t fully comprehend what had happened, but the gentle, peaceful quiet remained with me.

It was growing dark as I headed home. I’m not sure how I found my way back so easily. It felt as though the trees knew exactly where I was and where I needed to go.

Later, I tried many times to find that great old tree, but without success. Perhaps it never existed. Or perhaps it can only be found by those who allow themselves to be lost. The words I heard in the magical forest stayed with me — Your heart is the gate — and now, when I close my eyes, I can enter that lush green forest again, letting my feet take root, my arms grow branches, my heart blossom with thousands of flowers.

And so I carry the forest within me, waiting quietly for the next moment I wish to open the gate.