Your Proximity is a Breath Away: For Hans & the Forest that Awakens Us

Act 1

It begins now, under a canopy of dead calm, a land riddled with tip-up mounds and ancient trees spared from a history of clear cutting.

A tip-up mound on my property. Photo by Lavavoth.

Video I took of my property while building trails.

This is a region known as the Northeast Kingdom, the coldest place in Vermont that borders the 45th parallel. I moved here three weeks ago Friday to be with the ghosts of this eerie terrain, using the haunting aeolian harps strategically placed around the property to serve as portals to other realms. 

Artwork by Lavavoth, 2024.

It is here where I begin to shed the layers of decay and sorrow like a snake sheds its skin and leaves its evidence of growth on the battered wood of my deck. I emerge transformed, feeling the icy tendrils of your touch brush against my neck as you remain hidden within a colony of hemlocks. You guide me deeper into the woods.

Boulder covered in moss and fern on my property. Photo by Lavavoth.

Act 2

I must undertake this journey alone, even if your proximity is a breath away from my heart. This is an initiation. You serve as both my guide and tormentor, as angel and demon.

My Lover's Helmet. Artwork by Lavavoth, 2020.

What tests must I complete to get to the next level with you? We cross the stream that slices in half my 24.5 acres of old growth forest. Just beyond the water, the trees give way to a field of ferns that comingle with creeping buttercup and a bevy of goldenrods. Sun-bleached boulders hint at a time when glaciers dominated this land. In this way, I am witness and victim to the cycles of change. 

Common wood fern on my property. Photo by Lavavoth.

Artwork by Lavavoth, 2024.

Act 3

I retreat into the arms of a balsam fir and process what it means to see things that remain unseen by drawing them out. This isn’t a gift or a vision or an epiphany or an aberrant predisposition of a wayward lunatic. This is visual notetaking by a quiet observer who’s learned how to shift her gaze to see beyond the ordinary, seeing the common hairmoss turn into a biomorphic creature as the stars appear at dusk. 

Common hairmoss on my property. Photo by Lavavoth.

Artwork by Lavavoth, 2024.

“I’ve made it through another day unscathed,” I say to you, listening to the crickets welcoming the night. In the horizon, angels await my return. I take in a breath knowing the end to this awe and splendor will inevitably arrive, seeing my body decompose beneath the roots of a cedar tree as the wispy white lights of the aurora borealis call me home.