With your eyes closed, take a few moments to breathe and feel your place on the Earth.
Close your inner eyes and when you open them, find yourself standing in the corner of a meadow bordered by a mixed hedge. The ground slopes away from you towards a wood that lies just beyond a small stream. It’s winter and the meadow grass looks tired and flat; but cobwebs tangle the dry and rattling remains of willowherb, meadowsweet and hogweed, catching the last of the light as the sun sinks behind the trees. You see your breath rise in clouds of vapour and the air feels cold and damp against your face, but you are dressed warmly for your journey. From where you stand, there is no obvious way into the wood, but as you start towards it, you notice a robin perched in the top of a hawthorn beside you. He cocks his head and makes his fluted call as though in greeting, then flits a few yards further on; pausing to look back.
You take this as an invitation to follow him and so begin to make your way along the line of the hedge towards the place where the stream emerges from among a stand of trees. You can see enough in the failing light to identify hazel with its hanging yellow catkins and elder with its tangle of gnarled branches, but they are dominated by a group of alders, their catkin-laden branches making distinctive patterns against the clear sky. As you come closer, you notice how the roots of the alder reach into the stream; allowing the water to flow through them and yet the trees stand secure and solid.
A blackbird, disturbed by your presence, flies from the bramble thicket, calling in alarm and draws your attention to a deer track through the scrubby undergrowth on the other side of the stream. You cross, using the support of the alder branches for help and then start to make your way into the wood, your feet crunching softly on the forest floor.
There is much less light here and you begin to feel a little apprehensive, not sure of your destination. Crouching low to avoid the snagging branches, you can just make out the track through the trees as it winds its way up a slope, through the damp and decaying leaf litter. There are more mature trees here; you can feel their age and the weight of their presence above and around you as you make your way onward. Soon the gloom turns into true darkness and you feel your way forward with each step; using your hands as you climb the slope, the rich scent of the earth fills you with each breath. You seek the peace of your intention within yourself and whisper to the spirits of the forest to guide you and, raising your eyes, you see a pale glimmer ahead of you.
You make towards it in wonder, discovering a clearing at the top of the incline which is carpeted by snowdrops, seeming to glow under a quarter moon. You murmur your thanks to the spirits and move to sit in the shelter of the tangled roots of an old oak tree, wrapping your arms around yourself for warmth. Beneath the benign gaze of the moon, with the solid presence of the oak against your back, you begin to drift into a trance-like state.
You feel yourself sinking; down. Down into the leaf litter beneath the mighty oak. Down into the cold, damp earth. Down into the dark. You are small. A tiny seed in the heart of the forest and you feel the press of the Earth all around you as you sleep safe within her womb. Your brothers and sisters are all gathered around you and you can hear the soft humming of their song joining with your own as you dream beneath the frost of winter.
It is hard to say what changes, but suddenly there is a stirring; the first tiny flickering of wakefulness sends out shimmers through the darkness. You hear a change in the cadence of the song and know that your brothers and sisters are waking and you respond. Tentatively, you stretch out; unfurling from your foetal ball, drawing energy from the remembered songs of summer and the earth around you, you begin to push upward. You can feel the weight of winter pressing down on you, but you have untold power within your tiny form and you push against it, seeking to break through, as the songs of your siblings draw you ever onward into wakefulness.
Suddenly you feel the first touch of warmth on the crown of your head and you find a new strength. Stretching upward, you raise your arms to embrace the first rays of the sun; your head bowed in honour, yet fully awake and alive to his presence and blessed by his message of hope for new life…
The robin trills somewhere close by and you are aware once more of your human form, resting against the oak tree. Opening your eyes, you see the dawn light bringing a glow to the sea of pale flowers all around you. You feel a kinship with them and the air seems to be full of their soul song and the story of their growing. You give thanks and reach into your pocket for a gift; an offering to the forest.
Then, stretching out the stiffness in your limbs, you rise from your resting place beneath the oak and face the sunrise, revelling in even the small warmth it offers after the chill of the night. You breathe deeply in the frosty air, allowing it to dispel the last clinging traces of sleep and make you fully alert and aware of the world around you.
As you make you way down the slope between the trees, it strikes you how different the woods look in the morning light. Great tits call to one another in the branches above you and somewhere ahead, you can hear the chattering song of the wren. You follow the deer track to the edge of the wood, hearing the music of the stream by the foot of the alders and, coming closer, you see more clearly the patterns made by the flow of the water.
You pause to give thanks for all you have been shown and then cross the stream and make your way back up through the meadow. As you climb, slowly become aware of your physical body; feel yourself here upon the earth; become aware of the space around you. Return to this place alert and refreshed.