The woods near my river are filled with fishermen paths and small alcoves where the homeless make their homes during the warm evenings. There’s freedom under the stars, enjoyment of earthy scents, the possibility of a fire, listening to male frogs calling for mates, and gentle rushing of mountain snow, melting, and migrating towards the saltwater ocean.

Time doesn’t exist like a clock counting seconds in the woods. Some days I enter my office in the dark and leave the same way. Even when that happens, I walk the forest at night, discovering something different.

We fill our lives with responsibilities and get caught up doing the same things, while leaves are falling, very slowly, caught in a peculiar wind. Moments before the storm, I feel the rain, before it rains; I smell the lightning, before it hits the ground. The air is cool and the wind is warm. I sense nature’s power on my face, realizing the seasons are a stabilizing force, even though they change.