Not our woods

Yesterday I took Heather to 1/2 marathon trail run. While she was running I went for a solo hike in the woods. As I've said, for me time in the woods usually turns into a sacred time.

This has been an extremely long winter. As recently as two weeks ago the trail I was on got 2 feet of snow. Within 10 minutes of hiking I had to ford a snow melt stream that was 3 feet deep. I was extremely grateful for this, because it would hopefully deter other would be hikers and I relish my alone time in the woods. As I crossed the stream I ran into 2-3 day old elk sign. Then I noticed some cougar sign with about the same age. I imagined a cougar quietly stalking the noisy elk herd as it forged along it's way. The cougar watching for the right moment to strike a calf elk. I continued to walk along the trail trying to be observant and present to the great outdoors.

I came to a part of the forest that closed in. Instead of the open woods with tall older trees and a few rhododendron bushes with a good view, it became younger denser forest with a hallway cut out through the forest. With my visibility reduced, I focused on my other senses. I got the feeling of being watched. No sooner did I feel this, I walked around a corner and in the middle of the trail was fresh cougar scat, not just kinda fresh, but still glistening in a sunbeam fresh. The hairs raised on the back of my neck and I had a strong surge of adrenaline. My instinct was to get out of there, fast yet calm like. Instead I took it as a lesson the forest was trying to show me: It was a good reminder that this not my forest. I was a merely a visitor in the cougar's woods -- and not just their woods, but the trees', the elk's, the rhody bush's. I said an audible prayer -- "Brother cougar, I mean you no harm. I humbly ask for safe passage as a visitor through your forest. I come in good will. I respect and honor you." As soon as I said this I felt deeply at ease with the rest of my hike. It hit me that this is how I should always view the world. This is not my world, or humanities'. We share this small blue sphere with every creature, tree, stream, rock, and spring. This is a shared planet. This is not mine. I wish humanity could collectively say a similar prayer: "Dear grandfather fish, bird, forest, and creek, We ask humbly for your blessing as we tread softly through your land. We mean you no harm. We will leave only footprints and take only what we need." I hope that we can find this humility as a race, and quickly.