The Crunch of the Leaves

Two weeks ago, I attended a writing retreat in the Blue Ridge Mountains of North Carolina, a breathtaking place to watch the leaves change. Writing, for me, is how I make sense of myself. It’s how I pull a thought out of my head and onto the page so it doesn’t just float around in there.

At the retreat, we listened to passages from the late writer and philosopher Alan Watts. He talked about how, when we’re consumed by constant chatter, thoughts, and images, we end up thinking about nothing but thinking itself, and how meditation can help break that cycle.

Ugh. I get it. It’s healthy. It takes practice. But honestly, it sounds so boring. I feel my brain isn’t programmed to sit quietly. But something he said stuck with me - the boredom we feel during meditation isn’t from doing nothing - it’s from our brains refusing to recognize the mute button has been pressed. Once the chatter quiets, the boredom fades. He suggested that to quiet the mind, we should focus on something meaningless. If you start to feel bored, that’s a sign you’re thinking again. 

Inteeeeeeeeeresting.

Our next writing prompt was to take a 20-minute solo walk and quiet our minds by focusing on a single sound. When we returned, we were to sit down and write.

So, with that thought in mind, off I went. Here’s what I wrote:

October 18, 2025

Walking through the forest with a single focus, I pick a sound. I choose one I can control - the crunch of leaves beneath my feet. I don’t wander far, knowing my limited sense of direction.

At first, it feels like it’s not working. I remember Alan Watts saying that when you start to feel bored or think it’s not working, that means you’re thinking. I keep going.

Crunch, crunch.

I notice how the sound shifts depending on the size of the leaf piles. I like the sound of my steps when the piles are bigger. It reminds me of childhood, raking leaves into a huge pile just to jump in.

Stop. You’re thinking again. Go back to the crunching.

I’m enjoying myself. I stop and consider hugging a tree. A small voice in my head says, You’re being kooky. Stop. Focus. Keep crunching. I decide to do it. I hug the tree.

Then I hear a voice behind me...

“Excuse me, ma’am. Sorry to interrupt, but we’re shooting bows and arrows down here and you’re going to get hurt.”

I let go of the tree and walk in the opposite direction, toward more leaves. I smile.

Wouldn’t that be something? Jennifer gets hit by an arrow in the forest while hugging a tree. That would be the story. But the real story, the one no one knows but me, is that for a moment my brain slowed down enough to focus only on the crunch of the leaves.

Would it matter if I were the only one who knew of this achievement?

Yes. It would be goddamn beautiful.