The Japanese have a term called shinrin-yoku — forest bathing. First named in the 1980s, it simply means slowing down in the woods, breathing deeply, and letting nature do its quiet work.

When I first heard it, I dismissively assumed it was some kind of woo-woo tree hugging, nothing to be taken too seriously.

But life has a strange sense of humour.

I don’t remember exactly when I first came across the term, but I do remember my daughter naming our pet puppy Yoku not long after. Since then, Yoku has grown and moved on from our home and nearby woods, finding her place as the queen of a neighbouring farm.

The woodland, however, remains. And this morning, it offered its own quiet presence of shinrin-yoku during my rehab walk. Normally I’d be half-distracted — headphones in, Couch-to-5K targets front and centre, puffing along the familiar trail.

Today felt different. I slowed down. I paused. I noticed the sounds, the space, the air.

There were no grand forests or tree-hugging rituals, but for a few moments, I felt the essence of shinrin-yoku.