C.S. Lewis said, “He does not despise real woods because he has read of enchanted woods; the reading makes all real woods a little enchanted.”

I love this. Even an ordinary unenchanted wood becomes enchanted. An enchanted wood could stand fair like a goblet of gold, or dangerous with unexpected creatures springing around the next corner. Who knows what might hide behind the heavy trestles, what door might be tucked away in moss covered mountains.

But, you will never know if you don’t venture into the wood. Maybe it’s been many years since the last hoof beat sounded along the road and the echo of the stream has galloped on. Maybe it will be the changeless song that draws you in, drives you forward, into the ordinary to discover the extraordinary.

Maybe you will uncover the last wild bastion, or the garden gate beneath the shadow of the mountain. Maybe the air will be laden with the scent of white roses and sweet smelling wood and the deepest jade of summer grass. Perhaps the owl may wake and speak to you. Or not.

This much I know, there are hallowed places all around, and there is no ordinary wood, all are a little enchanted.

May you find your wood today. May you be enchanted. And, may you bid us all to join you.