“Found forest” (talált erdő) – a Hungarian forestry jargon term for those wooded patches of land that surveyors come across during their regular inventory of the nation’s forests and include in their registry anew.
A short while ago our family found a forest, too, and – interestingly – we did so with our sense of smell.
In the past linden blossoming season that has just ended, all three of us took note of this unmistakable “pretty fragrance” (as Csermely, our three year old daughter put it), characteristic to linden alone and so vernacular for my heart, such a temperate zone specialty and despite its frequent featuring in poetry as well as song lyrics, so undervalued character yet.
Although I don’t believe it is spiritually healthy to play favoritism in the way we relate to nature, when it comes to choose the shade of a tree to drop down under and enjoy the soothing coolness, I would hurry my steps to the closest linden. Smooth or just shallowly furrowed bark that invites you for a recuperating hug, flexible branches that remind you though to the limits of elasticity (integrity suffers where elasticity is overstretched), the blossoms so silky on your fingertips, and its tea so beautiful in color and aroma. Silver in summer, gold in fall, ruby in winter and always that medium to dark grey in its stature that evokes a sense of stability and continuity.
Akin to themselves, the early morning light lindens let through their patchwork was so soft and cool, like a deep and aged friendship.
Fallen flowers suspended on the translucent ice of cobwebs
and shelf fungus appearing as sun-dried apple chips
such wonders fed our detail hungry eyes on the floor of this grove that our noses have experienced first remotely. And well, our ears followed suit this morning, as we could still hear some of the last few tunes of the bee humming around the last flowers to wilt.
Magnificent oaks share in with the lindens’ glory here,
some close to hundred years old,
and the narrow sample swatch of what a permanent forest could look like at maturity in this place, was a series of smaller and larger openings, forming a spatial flow that drew us in as a dream.
Similar to good sleepers, we weren’t even bothered by the commuter traffic on the road just a few dozen steps away.
I am thinking, that’s the kind of life I always want to live: where your focus is forever captured by passion, irrelevant of the white noise around.
We found joy this morning, a place to get lost just across the road from our house.
(All photos taken by Cheryl Magyar.)
Where would you like to get lost?