Desperate to map some trails after work before the summer is over and the woods get darker earlier, I took a 6 mile hike along the east side of Flat Rock the other night, at dusk, apparently into Falulah Park. I discovered areas that I could never picture as being in Fitchburg, especially a section of Falulah Brook that looks as if it could have been transplanted from The Basin in New Hampshire's Franconia Notch.
As I made my way up out of a valley, and knew that I was coming into familiar territory near the gorge and main path, I thought I was imagining things when I saw what looked like a vague glowing 5 foot circular area along the trail. I passed it by, eager to get to my car before things got too dark, then was drawn to double back after a few footsteps. Sure enough, a pastel, pinkish-orange light seemed to emanate from the quiet trail of conifer needles and leaves. I stood there for a few seconds trying to figure it out, feeling as if I had found something a little magical. As I looked up, there was a small break in the heavy tree canopy, and, above it was what appeared to be the only cloud in the sky, a high wispy cloud that was subtly reflecting the pinkish sunset off to the west. The two were perfectly aligned, creating the glow in a small area of trail amidst a very dark area of forest.
About 9 years ago I hiked solo up Mt. Monadnock on a foggy summer day, not intending to summit, but exploring some quiet side trails, camera in hand. As I quietly walked along the Thoreau Trail, my quiet walk was made easier by rocks that nearly paved a section of the trail. As I stepped up over a big rise, I sensed a presence, and there, face to face less than 6 feet away, stood a huge deer. I froze, and while she did too, she didn't know why. My scent was probably blowing away from her, and I was motionless despite a strong pull to raise my camera. Lacking movement and scent, I was virtually invisible to her senses. The scene lasted several minutes before she started grazing nervously, picking at the forest floor but obviously still sensing that something was not right and maybe not safe. She wandered off slowly to my right, grazing as she went, and only when she was about 25 feet away did I move my body at all. The deer quickly skittered into the thin woods.
I imagine that special things happen all the time. The forest floor glows in magical ways that most human eyes never see, and deer and every other animal no doubt feed many times a day. The key, I think, is to approach with quiet footsteps and a quiet mind that is open, so that you can perceive moments like a glowing hemlock forest, and appreciate them.
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