Touch wood

footsteps of the Furies
2 min readMay 3, 2023

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May 3rd, 2023

I put my hand on a birch tree in my garden today. I don't know why I wanted and decided to touch the bark. It was a spur of the moment I guess — as I was walking by I felt the immediate need to reach and touch it. And that is what I did. And it was pleasant. The bark was warm in the sunlight and felt rugged and rough under my touch. I kept my hand on the birch tree for a while. Then I moved my hand a little up and down and from side to side. Just slight movements to feel the surface and tiny cracks in the bark to get the feel of an essence of what is bark and by extension — the birch.

I don't think I paid attention or gave a second thought to the sense of touch (probably not even a first thought…). What I touch and then sense through my skin and the nerve receptors there is usually pretty neutral — since somehow I learned that touching things that are slimy or hot or cold is unpleasant. Or can hurt. Other than that, be it wood or metal or plastic or paper or food in all its forms and disguises or water or leaves or clothes or another person — it feels good to touch or at worst — ordinarily inoffensive. Did we evolve to accept the touch of a surface of so many various organic and inorganic materials without squirming, or do we surround ourselves with things that are pleasant or innocuous by design?

Are there degrees by which I can judge and assign a place for different kinds of pleasant touches? I know that touching flowing water would be one of the most satisfying. The same with soil on my hands as I work in the garden. Flowers feel pleasing in my hand, as is a piece of bread just cut off the fresh loaf. The bedsheets, just after changing feel gratifying as the clean and smooth surface of my desk. Of course — the feel of the skin of another person is unmatched among things we can touch. Smooth or not, dry or wet, young or old — there is something primevally fulfilling in a touch of a skin of a loved or close person.

Then why do I shudder and why do I flinch when another person touches me?

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footsteps of the Furies
footsteps of the Furies

Written by footsteps of the Furies

“for they knew what sort of noise it was; they recognize, by now, the footsteps of the Furies”. Enjoying life on the road to recovery. Observing and writing.