My walk to the "spot" where I had trudged barefoot long ago was comparable to being pulled along by an all powerful force. I had stopped then due to the positives of such an experience not being felt as deeply as they had been prior. But this time was different, my anxious beating heart, seemed at once both cooled and less volatile with the very thought of returning.

Making sure no one was looking, naturally. One bare foot made contact first, testing the waters, would I feel anything nostalgic yet again? Would disappointment rear it's ugly head? But my fears were soon quashed, a deep inhale followed, the deep primordial connection seemed luckily to have revived itself. And what a restoration it was. Tears came next, the desire to cry out loud was nearly overwhelming at something that could not be fully comprehended nor described. The other foot was hurriedly unveiled, myself an excited child now with no trepidation.

The mud felt terribly cold, as it would have been, with any prior thought on a late February day. But this imbued coldness was no permanent barrier, despite my toes being enveloped by wet sopping mud. Squelching through, at times finding temporary refuge on ivy, moss laden outcrops, twigs, my presence scattering grey squirrels further away. A suitable, more compact area called me to sit down, but not only that, but, as I had only done once before very briefly in a different space, to lie down completely. On my side, what foliage was around me became positively distorted. I made myself entirely flat seconds later, the shaded tree canopy loomed above coupled with nearby birdcall.

Sleeping there and then seemed easy enough, even closing my eyes, comfortable with the thought that if the foliage tried to envelop me, I wouldn't resist at all. And be all the more happy for it.

Whilst barefoot, your natural surroundings become more wild in every way, you're more aware of where your feet are going. And as a result slow right down. When you connect so intimately the desire to slather mud on your face, placing feathers behind your ear, creating your own moss, lichen covered headwear becomes hypnotic. To become the land itself, rekindling a forgotten animalistic freedom.

Continuing upright, I dipped my foot in a small forest puddle, the greenery inside, a soft, cold compress. Two weeks earlier I'd visited Maes Knoll Tump, the iron age hill fort of a Celtic nature worshipping tribe called the Dobunni. Their mother goddess, Cuda came to mind whilst walking back, her name nearly on my lips. So close to being said aloud, a spell waiting to be conjured. When you feel possessed in such a way, the magic feels real, that maybe there could be forest spirits, creatures who spend their time hiding, lurking only revealing themselves if you're open to them wholeheartedly.

I remained entirely silent on the way home, socks in my coat pockets, bare ankles showing from my shoes. Scarcely able to comprehend what had occurred.

Maybe this "civilised" world we reside in is not where our feet are imprisoned by rubber, bereft of our earth's connection. But one of which they are free, where we are free to feel firsthand the foliage laden ground beneath, cold squidgy mud through our toes. It's time we bravely pull back this fabricated, soulless veil, to re-inherit an old ancient world we have long been confined from.