I left the city behind.
When I first got to Taos, just looking at the sky and how the light and clouds played across the mountain would cause a little ripple of joy to run through me. Breathing the fresh, clean air and watching a raven soar overhead was magical. Just greeting the day seemed like a ritual.
Then I found my sacred place.

It was October 3rd – easy for me to remember because that’s my daughter’s birthday. As a birthday treat, I suggested we hike up a wonderful trail I’d discovered off the road to the ski valley. It was cool in the shade of the trees as we hiked up the steep, rocky path. The textures of moss and rock, delicate ferns and evergreens, along with the sounds of water moving over and around the stone-floored stream were tickling all my senses.

Hiking uphill, the exertion caused us to lose an outer layer, tying jackets around our waists. The air felt cool on face and hands, but we were warmed by exercise. We didn’t talk much - just looked, listened and soaked it all in. Once in awhile one of us would say, “Look!” and point to some tiny wildflower or mossy stone.
The trail wound around enormous tree trunks, widening and narrowing in a pleasing, organic way. No paved areas here. No fences or guard rails. No signs. Crossing the stream on glistening stepping stones called up our seldom-needed sense of balance and each step from stone to solid land became an accomplishment, even if it wasn’t really difficult. The further we went up, up into the embrace of the mountain, the more I felt a part of it all.

We reached a waterfall, an area of large almost-level rock, the furthest I’d ever been on this trail. At first my instinct was to turn back but I saw that the trail continued though it was narrower, and steeper. Since this was her birthday, I asked my daughter if she’d like to go on, and she said let’s keep going.
By this time I was feeling the altitude and taking little breather breaks. The path went up and then down, which surprised me, and then back up with a turn so that we couldn’t see what lay ahead. Watching my feet to avoid tripping on roots or rocks, I had no idea what I was hiking into.

Then I raised my head and gasped. I looked at my daughter and saw we both had the same expression on our faces: eyes wide and mouths agape in amazement. We had stepped into an enchanted forest of gold – sunlight flashing off fluttering leaves and white tree trunks that soared upward like a gothic cathedral.
It took my breath away, that hidden aspen grove. I was overcome with a feeling of privilege to have been called there on that magical day. It was an honor to witness and celebrate the power of such an enchanted and sacred space.

Lesley Ivy lives in Ranchos de Taos.