When I tell someone that I like to go into the forest alone, they look at me as if I am saying something strange or even a little scary. 👀
But for me it is not about “walking” or “breathing air” - it is almost like a conversation, only the interlocutor is everything that rustles, crunches, smells and is silent at the same time. 🌲

Once I specially went to a house in the middle of the forest for a few days. Without company, without a schedule, without a goal. I did not even take a book - I thought that if I am going into silence, then with my head.
The first day was excruciating: everything inside was itching, I wanted to reach for the phone, check what people were there, who said what, who posted what. 📱
And then something happened that I went there for.
You suddenly start to hear the forest breathing.
This is not a poetic figure - you really hear the roots moving around, the old trunks creaking, the bark falling, the birds whistling somewhere far away, who are not singing for you. 🎶
You are sitting on a fallen tree and suddenly you understand: you are not the center of this scene at all. The forest does not care who you are. The forest does not care about your dramas, your plans, your resentment towards someone.
And this is unexpectedly liberating. ✨

I remember how it was raining - fine, like dust, it did not soak through, it just lay on me like a cold mesh. I sat and watched it roll down the moss. 🌧️
Then I lay on the deck near the house, listened to the frogs and remembered how much time I spend explaining. I explain what I am, why I do this, why I said it wrong, why I answered it wrong...
And the forest does not ask for explanations.
The forest does not get offended if you are silent.
The forest does not expect the right words or the right views from you.

I returned home different. I did not become a "savage", I did not quit social networks, I did not run away to the forest forever - I just brought this quiet piece with me. 🏡
Now, when everything inside is noisy and itchy - I close my eyes and hear the creaking of an old pine tree.
Maybe this is my way of remembering that I do not always have to be understandable. Sometimes - it is enough to be myself.
Sometimes - a tree that is silent. 🌳
Sometimes - rain that drips and goes into the ground.
And everything else can wait.