I drove to Felton this morning to run at Henry Cowell. I don't like running on asphalt but there are only a few dog-friendly trails at the park, and the longest one is paved. Nevertheless, getting to be with trees more than makes up for not getting to run on dirt.
The clouds were low and the forest seemed more lush than usual today. As I made my way up to the overlook on Pipeline Road, I could see the bright new growth on the redwood branches, and I could smell the rich, dank odor of dead wood and leaves. And while it was easy to notice the death around me, I could see that it was all steeped in life. The forest was utterly pulsing with the dance of living and dying and I was a part of it and it was a part of me. And it was amazing.
It made me think that every one of us is like a forest that is both living and dying in every moment. And the deaths we are experiencing are as precious and beautiful as the life we are living. Redwood trees know this, and I will need to remember it as they pump my veins full of poison a week from Monday. Let the trees teach me: My body is a redwood forest and even if it feels like I'm dying, I still belong in the dance of the living and there is no part of the process that is not amazing.