It was a late October morning and I had chosen a less walked trail in the Trent Forest. It was a cloudy day that promised rain from the northeast with dark clouds; but the sun still shone in the southeastern sky through a thin screen, giving everything a bright and soft ethereal quality.

The main walk went first along a lowland of marshy swamp forest, mostly cedars and poplars. The less travelled trail veered up a steep incline and eventually tapered to another drier mini-ecosystem. I felt like I’d entered an enchanted grove with tall and crooked black locust trees, some very thick (a metre or so in diameter) and no doubt quite old. Vines of creepers tangled down from gnarly branches, forming intriguing webs of colour and texture. I adore the bark of the Black Locust tree; It is deeply furrowed and resembles entwined rope. When I touched the craggy light bark of a large tree, I felt its corky lightness. The bark was covered in small moss patches and tiny foliose and crustose lichen in shades of pale green and deep yellow. An entire ecosystem.

Not another soul came by during the time I was there in the black forest grove. In fact, I didn’t encounter anyone on my entire walk in the forest. It was so quiet in the black locust grove. Except for some bird calling—possibly a woodpecker—and the soft trill of several little songbirds, chickadees and warblers, my constant companions.

I felt a quiet calm descent on me like a soft blanket and I didn’t want to leave. But I was keenly aware of the coming storm as the dark clouds billowed closer in gusts of fresh wind and a few raindrops started to spatter down on me. Yet I lingered.

I got home just as the dark clouds opened to a hard rainfall. The rain turned to hail. it came down in thick sheets, bouncing hard on the pavement. By then, I was glad to be indoors with my cup of hot tea.

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