I stopped to stare at a budding fern, rolled into coils of tense potential energy ready to spring outward. I find these fractals of green so captivating that I am certain they must resemble the neural networks of my brain through some lens we have yet to fully construct. I know there’s some truth to be found inside it, so I keep watching this fern in the husky air of this tiny patch of forest in this tiny sprawling valley in this little spot I know, somewhere between here and everywhere, that I like to go.
When I get out and away from everything busy, I try to suck it all in by stopping at vistas to close my eyes and breathe to know it. The environmental transitions on the hike are hazy, luminous, and often radical. The nature shapes the path and the path shapes nature. There are times when it feels combatively narrow and terribly unsteady and shows the sheer persistence of all the animals like me who just went there anyway. Mostly it is the path of least resistance or the best access to the resources and it just feels like a natural journey carved by the landscape that we happen to follow as creatures on a ride. This is why it’s vital to stop and know it by the sounds and feel with your eyes shut and you whole mind open. When you’ve been walking so long that your legs tire, it can be impossible to know if the hills are getting higher or if the valleys are getting lower. It’s like being so underwater you aren’t rightly sure which direction leads to the surface.
On this walk, it was the ferns I saw among the different contexts and conditions that draw forth the diversity of speciation. There are so many varieties of these botanical cephalopods, such a sprawl of greens and curls that seem to conclude solely due to a lack of resources rather than any kind of formal aesthetic completion. They reek of endless potential and flying spores and kinetic energy in the coils. They’re always moving; you can almost hear it like a faraway echo in a shell, the slightest vibration of motion, the constant spritzes of freshness being unveiled.
This fern is pristine and crisp. It’s barely been out of the warmth of the soil but it’s raring to unfold upward and outward and what a grand place to grow indeed. It has everything a fern really needs to thrive. The valley captures the sunlight and it seems to tumble down like a shower between the leaves of the canopy above. The ground is covered in soft redwood bark that looks and feels like warm fur because the earth just soaks the sunlight up all day and holds onto it. Those leaves are all busy doing strange light alchemy but the ground just basks in it all. It’s nice to stand in the moment and remind myself that I’m not surrounded by things, but processes of life all dancing with the light.
It’s a rich, warm, wet spot in the forest today and I would much rather wear that than the fabric on my back. How can I get to know this moment better wearing all of these clothes? I’m just another part of this ecosystem and I’ve been expected. Right here, right now is a beautiful place to sprout and so, I do. I peel of clothing, socks, and finally my boots casting them off to the side where I can pick them up again when the the situation changes.
Crouching low on the ground, my skin twitches at the shock of the sudden transition. I close my eyes and feel each place where a tiny ray of light touches my skin and I follow the path of warmness. At first I can hold onto one for a short distance but before long I can hold the strings of sunlight on my skin like chords and follow their voyage everywhere in my body, even my eyelids and between my toes. When I open my eyes again, I can twice as many shades of green, then three times as many. If I keep observing they may never stop coming and spreading out into all directions and planes. My eyes are dilating with the pleasure of the moment and the safety of the soft light. Sleepy nerves throughout my body start to rouse and lift outward. It feels vaguely prickly as the first wave of nerves flicker on and rush forward but then it evens as everything thickens and warms and rushes from my inside to talk to my outside.
It’s easy for everything to get in right now. My breaths become deeper and longer and the warm flush begins; my pores open up and lubricate with sweat, my thighs start to widen, my cunt begins to swell and open and drip. My muscles begin to loosen and before long my bare ass brushes against the soil. I bounce lightly as my muscles continue to warm and stretch and soon I am flexible enough to brush my bush onto the earth. I continue with the motion and can feel the sensation of individual hairs on individual grains. After more swelling and warming and soft vibrations of loosening muscles, my raw open cunt dips down to kiss the soil and I cannot help but grind.
Me, the earth, you, and the universe too: here I am opening up to you. I roll onto my belly and arch my back as far as it can go, until my breasts fall back toward my throat and the tops of my feet and ankles are pressed flat into the dirt. The more I can arch and the longer I can hold that tension, the easier it is for everything around me to fuck every hole in my body; my pores, ducts, ears, nostrils, tastebuds, and other places of in-and-out traffic. The pose starts burn, a shake sets into my body, and I want to stay here and let it overwhelm me. There is mud on my asshole and so what if all of this really does amount to some hippie chick in the woods bullshit? Because this thing, whatever it is, happens all of the time out here and it feels so good that every cell inside me is stepping forward and back to satisfy its own thirst for this kind of pleasure.
That’s when I start to howl and nothing near me is startled or even moved by my spasmodic display that makes me roll forward like a cresting wave as those electric pops fire off down my spine and out into everywhere. Every noise I make echoes off the mountain walls and bounces from the tree trunks and even runs through the spirals of the fractal ferns by my side but nature does not flinch. All the world’s an orgasm and this is my contribution. It has me gyrating and smothering the ground with my breasts and pointed nipples.I am hot and sore and sweaty; that’s when the breeze comes and knocks the morning fog of the branches and leaves above in a fine mist with a crystal sheen.
After awhile I, I rise from the ground and walk to the stream. It’s not until the water hits my ankles that I realize I had never been here before but knew exactly where to go because everything around me said that it was so, and I followed.