What the forest doesn’t ask of us

There is a bench about twenty minutes into the forest. It has no view worth photographing. A fallen branch blocks part of the path, and in autumn the seat is usually damp. It is one of my favourite places.

An afternoon without a result

I first found it during a month when every hour felt accounted for. Even rest had become a task, something I hoped would make me more useful later. I went for a walk because I could not think of anything else to do.

The trees did not need me to turn the afternoon into anything.

I sat for a while. A bird moved through the leaves with more purpose than I felt. Light shifted across the path. Nothing happened that would make a particularly good story, which was part of the relief.

I return when I can. I wear shoes that can get muddy and take a coat if it looks like rain. Sometimes I only stay for a few minutes. The bench offers no transformation. It offers a place to sit, and some days that is enough.