Finding yourself in a lost place


Tyler Murphy

After work yesterday, I got in my car and drove to the most remote seasonal road in the Town of Preston I could find. There, I traveled down the very narrow and rough road with the canopy of red, yellow and orange leaves creating an apparent tunnel through the woods. Aggravated by the cold and restless weather we’ve had lately, the autumn leaves easily detached from their limbs in the surprisingly warm breeze. They flutter to the forest floor and in every direction, dancing leaves descending between the wet trunks.

I stopped and pulled over at a small trail leading into a farmer’s pasture and walked a good half a mile along the deserted path. Even the old road was littered with piles of the discarded foliage of fading color and it all but removed any sign that civilization existed nearby.

The clamoring of rustled tree tops, freely drifting leaves and the crisp sound of my shuffling footsteps seem to be different notes on the same instrument.

When I closed my eyes in relaxation, the anthem of autumn reminded me of lying on some cool beach with the sound of the shore ebbing endlessly on. The rhythmic tides of crashing waves and the constant rustling of millions of leaves seem so intimately related that I was convinced it all must be some how connected. Standing there, I too felt apart.

This is where I’d usually say I was lost in the experience, but truthfully I felt lost until I found that place. It’s amazing how a little peace can bring you back to center.

The toils of a long week or the drag of a bad day fall away with the forest’s delicately collapsing petals.

The crispness of the wet air compelled me to inhale deeply and the fresh smell of changing plant life again reminded me of another kind of nature’s serenity, spring. Every breath felt clear and quenched my tensions.

I stood out on that road staring off into the trees for maybe 30 minutes, I barely moved, never made a sound and let my thoughts move in whatever motion the world around me inspired.