December 28, 2025

By Arthur H. Gunther

thecolumnrule.com

There seems an old, old tradition, probably sent by the gods so that you are never alone on a walk in the woods, even if you want to be. It is the stick you might first look for, seemingly fallen from a tree as a branch piece. It beckons.

You pick it up, shake off the loose bark, test its strength against the ground and begin the walk. Now, you don’t need the stick, say for balance, but it is a companion in your solitary moment. Nice to have company sometimes, even better if it allows quiet, does not speak beyond the crunching of the leaves. Yet it is there.

A walk in the woods can be therapeutic in a busy world, in an involved life, in the aging process where the memory vaults are so full that even one drawer contains references so connected to each other that the walk can be over before you deeply ponder.

The stick is beside you all along, whether you are deep in thought, or as the mind wanders or as you notice fallen trees, rocks, small stream crossings and ruts in the path.

Markers emerge in the woods that seem to fit life journeys – hills, valleys, thick brush, the sudden opening to a field of winter straw. Does the walking stick guide you?

Your journey of the day comes to a close, and you and the stick, that fallen branch part, take leave of one another. You prop it against a tree for the next walker, another tradition. That person will know you had time in the woods and is a certain trust as another walk is taken.

The writer is a retired newspaperman.

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