There is a little path through the woods that leads to a secluded patch of heaven that I find myself seeking out. The path is not well marked, guarded from most of the outside world except for those who have been here before and are very good at remembering the landmarks that guide your feet to this place.

It’s a Sunday afternoon. The kind of Sunday afternoon where the sun shines lazily, and cat naps outdoors are encouraged. It’s a pleasant 50 degrees outside and the wind is weakly whipping through my hair as I exit my car. I have reached the park where my journey can commence. I am so very not dressed for the occasion, and do not want to be. I want the extreme juxtaposition of a flowing Sunday dress, red tights, and thin jacket against the chilly weather and millions of shades of browns that I will find on my trail.

I put my shades on and lock my car from intruders. No telling what kind of people you can find in a park, or what they are up to. I start walking slowly beside the river. It has been raining off and on this last week and the river rages fully. The temperament of the water always guides me: it rages, I am over excited: if it is lazy and tame, I take my time to feel every sensation.

I pay attention to the edge of the trail; it is a very steep drop off. Below, the angry river would pull me down, completely entering all of me with its deadly wetness. Streams of water washing over every ounce of my skin, like a million tongues tasting me before entering my throat and taking my breath away. How seductive and intoxicating the danger of water is.

I find the bridge that leads over a small stream to the beginning of my trail. I walk steadily across, glancing over the edge at the meager water before. No danger here besides the height. I scoff at this pitiful water and continue. There is a lovers' tree that marks the right path. Initials scrawled all over the aching tree and I wonder if the lovers stopped to think how the tree felt as they harshly carved their innocent initials into the base.

I see a fallen tree coming up on my path. And my insides begin to heat up. Nature! What could be more exciting? Pure nature, no manmade structures needed to make it more beautiful. I come up to the dead tree. It is up to my thighs and I know exactly how to cross this obstacle.

I pause and remove my jacket. It's not warm by any means but already the walk has gotten my body moving and heating up, inside and out. My clothes feel so very constricting but that’s a problem I will solve eventually. I leave my jacket on the log. I will pass back this way eventually after I achieve what I came for and will pick it up then. I lift my left leg over the tree. I could easily and quickly let my right leg follow but my goal is not easy or quick. My goal is mindfulness and to make nature my lover.

Left leg on one side, right leg on the other, I stretch myself over this log. I only have the thin tights between me and the roughness of the tree bark. I place both hands on the log in front of me, and like some sort of animal, pull myself along the log, feeling the friction created against my sex. The roughness of the bark snags and tears through the tights deliciously. I let out a sigh of pleasure to the world.

I know no one can hear me here in this wonderful place and that excites me even more. It's just me, in solitude and in tune with nature like a nymph. I pull my right leg over and continue my walk, feeling the leggings snag between my legs, patches of flesh exposed, and wetness formed between my thighs. My bare feet press into the damp ground, letting the earth take some of my excess energy with every step.

I come across my next landmark, an incredibly large tree that separates into three large sections. There is a small pathway around the tree from where other visitors have mushed down the overgrowth to circle this tree and marvel at its girth and age. I, too, follow the circle path around this spectacular specimen. My fingers touch the bark, covered in so much moss that it feels like a mans hairy chest. I love the texture. As if to prove my love to the tree, my right-hand falls to the bottom of my dress.

I remember then that I still have tights on and quickly remove them. So much better! My dress remains, for now, but my sex is free. My left hand strokes the moss as my right hand strokes my own bush. I have overgrowth of my own and I don’t plan on ever trimming it. My fingers linger on my lips, slowly stroking back and forth but not entering; exciting myself and making me even wetter.

Now my nipples want attention. I ignore them momentarily. I need to travel more, and the walking alone will agitate them enough for now. I continue my walk, keeping an eye on that rushing river beside me, my feet extremely cool as I walk through small puddles of leftover rain. My hands don’t know what to do as I walk, and so I stretch them out to my sides so that bits of brush and bramble can tickle my fingertips.

I walk along silently, steadily, my body wanting everything to touch it, but my mind saying no release yet. Let the pleasure build in this beautiful space until the blowing wind alone could set me off.

In front of me now is another large tree that has fallen. I am envious as it is still beautiful even in its death and decay. My eyes follow the broken tree to the edge of the trail next to the river drop off, my end game.

And there she is! The most beautiful and dangerous tree in this entire trail. A large, knotted tree grown over the edge of the river. Roots exposed, it reminds me of paintings of can-can dancers, legs exposed and ready for people to touch. I creep up next to the roots and finally, my body tells me its time.

I remove my dress, slowly and feeling every bit of wind as it hits my freshly exposed skin. My tree is exposed, so naturally I should be as well. I toss my dress into the river. Material is constricting and manmade and I am a thing of nature, ready to be seen with all my imperfections on display. My now mildly muddy feet take small steps onto the roots leaning over the river. My hands feel her smooth white bark. Such a beautiful tree, the Marilyn Monroe of nature.

I turn my back to the water, its dangers far from my mind as I let the smooth bark touch my back and ass. I know if I lose my thoughts completely, I will fall in and be gone forever. My lips are soaked with the excitement of it all. I rest on my brave tree and trust her to keep me safe. My left-hand dances on my thigh before sliding up my stomach to my left breast. My right-hand scratches my right thigh and slides toward my wet bush.

I pinch a nipple and pull it. I moan. I can moan as load as I want and imagine that the water splashing against rocks is the eager reply. As if nature is saying yes, release yourself for me, to me. The fingers on my right-hand form a  V and spread my lips. I feel the cool wind licking my sweet spots, my clitoris, my hardened nipples, and I am getting breathless.

I hear the water rushing, louder and louder and I know this will be a very sweet fast release. I slide one finger into my folds. My jaw drops. Even I didn’t know that I could get this wet, like my body has its own secret competition with the river. I add a finger. Two fingers in unison, sliding back and forth, front to back smoothly and luxuriously. My groin leaps forward to my hand, wanting it to take the final dive that will drive me over the edge.

I cup my breast with my left hand, my thumb slowly flicking my nipple as the wind keeps it rock hard. I enter myself. Both fingers filling and stretching gently. I moan, louder this time. I plunge my fingers in and out, my thumb stretching up to my clitoris, creating double layers of pleasure. I pause momentarily, knowing how close I am, letting nature take me this way.

I resign myself in my head to really let myself give into the pull from my beautiful tree, the water, the whipping wind. I keep a steady pace and circle my clit with my thumb. My left hand flicks my nipple harder and harder, my right hand doing what I need no man for. Nature has truly become my lover. I plunge one more time, deeply, and let my world collapse. I keep my fingers inside, feeling my body convulse around them. I pinch my nipple one last time and let out a long shaky breath.

Momentarily, I ponder falling into the river like this. Wondering what the headlines would say if and when I was ever found? Wondering if the water would make love to me like the wind and tree did? Wondering about death and its infinite beauty. But I don’t want to die. I like this life. Finally. I just like to tease and torture myself, I think. And so, I choose to live, and love. I climb back from the tree, back to the path. Knowing my true path again. Nature has a way of clearing your head. And that it has.