you alter me as silently as trees. the feather-like fronds of your understory reach into the pathways of my mind, brushing up against nerve cells alert with their constant rush of synapses. And yet, your touch makes them still so that my breath flows more easily, my heart beats more gently, my body softens into my seat. i haven’t even left my car. And yet i feel the humus of the forest floor in my flesh. its cool, damp, dryness laying like a poultice under my skin healing all the fractured membranes chomping all the half-dead nuclei, digesting the unloved dna making it into dirt - beautiful, loamy soil. As if i was standing with my feet buried now i feel the soft workings of fungi between my toes between the fibres of my muscles between sinew and bone working their way up to my heart, right inside the chambers so that its beat comes into the rhythm of the fabulous xylem flows within the trunks of your trees. what magic are you working here in my body, as i drive my kids to school? what secret ways of being are you writing in my heart? my body thanks you, while my mind goes spinning out to find the answers to questions it will never truly know.
Shalome Knoll is an eighth generation Australian woman of UK and European descent. She is deeply curious about the interrelationship between mental health and the natural world, and writes from her experiences of being or becoming part of the landscapes she inhabits.