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banish my negative thoughts. There were
"too many browser tabs open" in my
cluttered, worried brain.
A soft breeze and the sweet and
spicy smell of decaying leaves began to
quiet my internal noise. I looked more
intently around me at the fall colors of
this southern forest filled with hickories,
sassafras, sourwood, beech, maples,
native magnolias, oaks, and sycamores.
The leaves of the deciduous sassafras tree,
which grow in three different shapes,
have long been a favorite. Every autumn,
they turn shades of red and yellow. The
elliptical, watermelon-colored version of
these leaves bring back memories of my
childhood in a wooded neighborhood on
the outskirts of Atlanta.
I marveled, as I always do, at the
hundreds of bigleaf magnolia leaves
dominating the forest floor with their
silver undersides facing up—now
allowed a view of the sky. The massive
leaves lay in still, pale ponds circling
slender trunks. Some, caught on
branches, looked like flags and banners
celebrating the cycles of life.
At a bend in Cabin Creek, I found
a dozen trout fry, darting about in the
clear water and hiding under fallen
leaves. Over the years, as I’ve walked
this trail, I’ve seen generations of these
little fish—hatching, growing, and then
making their way downstream to the
river: the comforting, repeated refrains
of nature.
What to do next?
As I continued my downhill trek
toward the river, I saw a woman walking
toward me. Something in her face told
me that we were both in the woods
for the same reason. As a young Black
woman, her experiences and challenges
assuredly differed from mine, but as
women and mothers of sons we found
commonality in our worries about the
future. We asked each other: “What
is next? What do we do now?” The
river and the woods were calming,
but couldn’t answer our questions. We
wished each other well and walked on.
At the river, I lay my jacket on the
ground and sat cross-legged watching the
gray-green water flow around the jagged
rocks and islands on its way to the sea.
I made a foolish decision and looked at
my cell phone for news and messages
from friends; the rapid breathing
returned.
Finally, I put the phone down to lie
on the ground, just inches from the edge
of the water. Gazing skyward, I scanned
the tree canopy above me, watched
the sun periodically emerge from gray
clouds, and listened to the river. An hour
or more passed. My breathing slowed.
Nature’s gifts of peace and healing filled
me, as my mind and body seemed to
merge with the river.
I’m still searching for answers to
the question of what to do next, but I
know it will include greater emphasis
on family, community, and nature—and
that indifference and surrender will not
prevail. As philosopher Albert Camus
wrote: “In the depth of winter, I found
there was, within me, an invincible
summer.”
high.org/CultureCollectiveEvents
Gift
Ideas
for
Curious
Minds
ROUGHDRAFTATLANTA.COM
DECEMBER 2024 | 19
