‘Forest bathing’ is a thing, apparently. I learnt about it this year. It’s the practice of finding trees to be close to and b-r-e-a-t-h-e amongst, so that one can discover their inner peace and tranquillity.

In Japan they call it ‘shinrin-yuku’, which literally means forest-bath.

I’d heard of it in passing but thought it all sounded very new age and obvious. Yes, nature is lovely and restful, so what?

And then, during lockdown, when I was furloughed from my job and everyone disappeared from the streets, I took a lot of walks on Wimbledon Common and found a new magic under the trees.

I’d had an early case of Covid-19 and experienced the breathlessness that goes with it. The disease had made me sick and weak and I’d lost seven pounds in the two weeks it took me to be able to get out of my bed. Feeling wobbly and fragile, wandering along woodland paths, building my strength again, I discovered the power of shinrin-yuku.

I found moments of real peace and tranquility in a suddenly-surreal world. The rustling of the branches now that the traffic had died away, the smell of the bark no longer hidden by fumes: these things became a soothing and addictive balm. Breathing deeply felt like a privilege when I had been struggling for breath only days earlier and knew that so many people, all over the world, still were struggling. That sweet woodland air was everything I needed and wanted. I unfurled, letting go of some of my tension and worry.So yes, forest bathing is a thing and I get it now.

Standing amongst the trees, I could feel their unhurried strength. I realised how much I loved and needed to have nature around me; that this was something I had to hang on to in my life, when the wheels of the world started turning again and the noise and bustle tried to pull me away.

It was a mental respite, and these quiet moments of calm – noticing the leaves, the birds, the colours of bark, the shadows and light – were a kind of mindfulness practice. But it wasn’t just that. It turns out that trees and plants give off ‘aromatic compounds’ called phytoncides and studies have shown that inhaling them can lower blood pressure, help to support the immune system and fight cancer. My walks were good for my recovering body, not just because I was up and about, moving my muscles, but because I was literally breathing in good health.

Now, when every journey involves donning a mask, shutting out the cool air and plunging into a fug of my own warm breath; when I’m separated from the world around me and dutifully keeping my distance, I carry with me those precious moments under the trees.

Interestingly, that feeling of connecting with something I never knew I needed has rippled out into the rest of my life. What else have I been missing? What are my most basic requirements for a ‘good’ life? I’m getting those things in place.

I was made redundant from my job and it was the best thing that’s happened in years. Finally having time to do it, I’ve got the world’s most beautiful puppy.

I’m planning a six month sabbatical in Spain.

I go for more walks.

Life has slowed down and I love it.

Trees are everywhere, if we take a moment to notice them. Try it and you might just find you have a quick route to calm and an army of beautiful, utterly dependable friends at your back.