A walk in the woods of Quebec
From the Journal: 8/29/2010
I took a walk this evening, an hour before sunset, south along the east short of the lake until the beach disappeared under the cool water and I found moosetracks submerged and untouched.
I climbed a tree, and then a second, to ascend a cliff by the waters edge. Once I made it to the top I rested in the calf-deep Carribou moss and watched the sun start to drop down below the hills. It rained this morning and the moss held pounds of water per foot. I was soaked through seconds after kneeling.
The paths I walked back to camp are old and were not made by man. There’s bear and wolf scat near them, fresh moose tracks nearby, and blueberries all around. They — the paths — are cut deep in the moss, and seem eternal. I feel they’ve been here as long as the lake itself.
…and its quiet. When walking alone in the woods I often can’t help but whistle, click my tongue, or snap my fingers every so often. Far removed from the small, persistent, sounds that haunt modern-life, the woods are almost unnervingly silent.