Have you ever felt like you’ve entered an enchanted forest? I have. Numerous times, in fact. 
But on this occasion, in Jug Handle State Park, I felt the Mother Tree welcoming me with her fantastical arms. 
She appeared to have strange offspring. One tree walked along the ground on two legs. 
Another had six legs like an insect. 
Still another snaked along the earth like a serpent. 
As I continued on through light and shadow I felt at peace, as though each trunk and limb were comforting me. 
When I paused in front of a limb that had grown at right angles I wondered if it had been trying to box something in. Did it want to hold something that in the end slipped away? What am I holding too tightly? Should I just let go? 
As I left the woods, the trees on either side of the path were reaching out to one another without becoming entangled. Without losing their ability to keep growing. I want to do the same, I thought, I want to keep growing.
Photos © Sondra Sula.
Take a walk with me by reading my most recent daily devotional book, Meditations on Mendocino by Sondra Sula. Available on Amazon in paperback or Kindle versions.
If you’d prefer a daily river walk, Reflections on the Fox River and Beyond by Sondra Sula, might just be the book for you.
Take a walk with me at Jug Handle State Natural Reserve. After we’ve ducked under Route 1 and descended a hundred steps, we’ll enter a boardwalk, shambly and mysterious. The Cloud of Unknowing. 
I never really know what I’m going to see when I take a hike.
Yes, if I’m on the Jug Handle Ecological Staircase Trail I know I will pass certain trees. But a tan oak might be shedding a leaf and the sunlight might shine through that leaf in such a way I have never seen before and will never see again. Because life is fleeting.
I might see a flower I’ve seen dozens of times before, but today I notice how its lavenderness takes center stage among a backdrop of emerald ferns.
Or how the fruit of a clintonia, also known as a blue-bead lily, appears even more dazzling against the pale wood of a fallen tree trunk.
Then I see something that’s hard not to notice. A giant tractor-like machine parked at a trail crossroads.
Naturally I need to explore this behemoth,
wonder about its purpose,
the efficiency of its design
and why it sits immobile in the middle of a wood.
As I inspect its tail light I realize I’m at my turnaround point.
I never really know what I’m going to see when I take a hike because wonders never cease.
The boardwalk beckons. I have to duck under a fallen tree to enter. I know I can fall in love with what’s under the boardwalk, but I also know there’s plenty of fun to be had just looking over its sides.
Take, for instance, this easy-to-pass-by white flower. Look closely and each tiny bloom is an explosion of excitement.
Below the boardwalk a lazy creek meanders, reflecting the trees and sky above. Animal footprints dot the muddy shores. Moss creeps over fallen logs, intent on full coverage. An entire ecosystem thrives.
How do I thrive? By stopping to enjoy a cabbage butterfly as it rests momentarily on a leaf. By noticing a fallen pine cone’s perfectly pointed tip. By recognizing that black nightshade resembles shooting stars.
What makes you thrive? Beholding a flower? Immersing yourself in nature? Watching clouds pass by? Sitting in silence watching the stars? Listening to the laughter of someone you love? Seek out whatever it is—and then enjoy it. For it is your gateway to your own “boardwalk.”
I burst out of a thick, shady wood into the light. The perimeter was fringed in gorse and pine. Though invasive and nasty to touch, the thorny gorse—upon closer inspection—held silky yellow blooms and soft, fuzzy pods upon its branches. And the sap-sticky, poking pines held up purple-blue, diamond-patterned cones on their tips.
My eyes dropped to the ground: English daisies and coastal buttercup-like blooms blinked cheerfully amid the green. Their centers boasted additional bouquets—flowers within flowers.
Tiny hairs enveloping the leaves of a ground-hugging plant gave it a white glow, as if lit from within. Among blades of grass, tiny cabbages—footsteps of spring—opened their ruffled collars to expose round chartreuse faces.
As I stretched my neck upwards, I caught sight of the sea below. Lost in my tiny world, I had temporarily forgotten I was on the edge of a bluff. I waited a few seconds for my eyes to adjust from micro to macro. How many micro wonders cling to the exposed rock or float in the ocean? My mind went wild for a moment realizing how much diversity existed on this small patch of earth. Creation overwhelmed me.
To regain my mental footing, I cast my eyes back to my feet. A wild strawberry blossom held multiple fat, lily pad anthers up to the sun. Miniscule winged insects crawled inside, giddy with delight. Or was I projecting?
Just before reentering the forest, I noticed the flowers of a wild radish plant. Its purple-veined petals were chewed and bitten by beetles, and yet still looked ethereal—like delicate wings.
The relentless rain, though welcome during a drought, has made many trails impassable without Wellingtons (which give me blisters on long treks). I thought I’d try the latter part of the Jug Handle Ecological Staircase Trail because it’s at a slightly higher elevation than most of the trail and might be less flooded. This meant I’d have to park near the llamas.
As I entered the well-worn path, I spotted three sawed logs, like three unblinking eyes with pale pupils. I was reminded to keep my “third eye” open for spiritual insight during the walk.
Next, I came upon moss-covered trees that gave me the feeling they, too, were moving along their own path—wriggling and bending to and fro when I wasn’t looking, but motionless when they sensed my gaze. Some trees looked striped due to deep cracks in their bark—the zebras of the forest.
When I reached the pygmy forest, starbursts of rhododendron seedpods greeted me openly and I delighted in seeing their shadows—for shadows meant sun! It shone down in full force, prompting me to remove my jacket and tie it around my waist. I felt almost giddy with joy, feeling the warmth penetrate my skin. I lingered on the pygmy boardwalk, basking in the golden rays.
Eventually the loop spit me out on a part of the trail that had become a tiny river. As I examined the bubbles, leaves, pine needles and rocks that littered the sandy stream, I felt grateful for the rain—for without it, the sun wouldn’t seem as sweet.
Sondra Sula's Blog: The Nature of Spirituality 