July 8, 2022

At Kettle Pond in Vermont’s Groton State Forest, I am lying in a hammock surrounded by the understory, idling beneath the forest canopy. The monochromatic intensity, with all the subtle hues of hunter, emerald, jade, lime, chartreuse, and other shades up and down the spectrum, overwhelms my visual sense. This seepage seems to activate some extra-sensory perception, such that I am absorbing, more than seeing, the scene above me. (In this absorption, I am reminded of the Japanese art of forest bathing, and a weekend camping here affords an especially long soak.) Sunlight projects light and shadow through layers of beech, poplar, and mostly maple leaves. Like Javanese shadow puppets, gradations of transparency and opacity combine in countless permutations, while light waves pierce undulating slivers of the space between leaves and bend softly into dappled patterns activated by the breeze. But beyond the visual effects, the feeling of this place in this moment, with my eyes closed, is that of floating, suspended in a gaseous state of equilibrium, where, if only for an instant, I am outside of time.