Every November someone in one of my classes says the same thing. "I loved the forest walks, but I'm not going out on the ice." Fair enough. Neither am I, some days.

So here is what I tell them. You can forest bathe at home. Not as well as in a stand of hemlocks on a still morning, I won't pretend that. But well enough that your shoulders drop and your breathing slows, and on a grey February afternoon that counts for a lot.

What forest bathing actually is

Forest bathing comes from Japan, where it's called shinrin-yoku. It was given that name in the 1980s, when people were worn out from city life and the government started encouraging them back into the woods.

There's no swimming involved, and you don't hike anywhere. You go slowly, you notice things, and you let the place do most of the work. When I lead a walk we might cover less than a kilometre in two hours. Nobody believes that until they've done it.

Researchers in Japan have spent years measuring what happens to people who spend unhurried time among trees, and they've found lower stress hormones, lower blood pressure and calmer heart rates. I'm a teacher, not a scientist, so I'll just say this: I've watched it happen to hundreds of people, and I've felt it myself.

Why it still works indoors

Most of forest bathing is attention. It's the slowing down and the noticing. That part travels anywhere.

The forest adds smells, sounds, shades of green and the feeling of air moving on your skin. At home you can bring a little of each of those in. Not all of it, and not perfectly. Enough.

A twenty minute ritual for a winter afternoon

Do this somewhere you won't be interrupted. Put the phone in another room. Really, another room.

1. Find your window. Sit where you can see the most sky or the most tree. If that's the kitchen window looking at the neighbour's maple, perfect. Bare branches are wonderful to watch. You can see the whole shape of a tree in winter.

2. Arrive. Close your eyes and take three slow breaths, longer on the way out. Then ask yourself what you can hear. The furnace, a car, a bird if you're lucky. Don't judge any of it. Just count the sounds.

3. Bring in something green. Cut a few sprigs of cedar, pine or spruce from the garden (or ask a neighbour, or buy a small bundle at a garden centre). Hold them. Crush a needle between your fingers and smell it. That sharp, clean scent is the closest thing to a forest you can fit in a bowl.

4. Open the window a crack. Even a minute of cold air on your face changes the room. Notice the difference in temperature between your cheek and your hands.

5. Watch one thing move. A branch, a cloud, the steam off your tea. Stay with it longer than feels comfortable. This is the part most people want to rush, and it's the part that matters.

6. Touch something from outside. A stone, a pine cone, a piece of bark you picked up in the fall. Notice its weight and how cold or warm it is. Turn it over.

7. Close with tea. Make a cup of something warm and drink it slowly, looking out the same window. In my classes this is how we always end, with tea and a few words about what we noticed. At home, you can tell the cat.

That's it. No equipment, nothing to buy, and no right way to feel afterwards.

A few things that help

• Same time, same window. The ritual gets deeper when it becomes a habit. Late afternoon, as the light goes, is lovely in winter.
• Houseplants count. If you have a corner with a few plants, sit there instead. A fern or a big leafy plant at eye level does more than you'd think.
• Sound can help, gently. If your house is noisy, a recording of rain or wind in trees can cover the hum. Keep it quiet, and turn it off for the last few minutes.
• Go out when you can. Even ten minutes in a park, standing under one tree, is forest bathing. You don't need a trail. On a dry day, wrap up and try it.

When spring comes

The at home version is a bridge to get you to the woods, not a substitute for them. When the trails thaw, I'd love to see you on one. Ontario is full of quiet forests within an hour of most of us, and some of my favourite mornings have been spent in them with a small group, a thermos and nowhere to be.

Until then, find your window.

If you want the whole thing

I've written a short book about this. Forest Bathing After 50 takes you through your first walk stage by stage, then gives you twelve small practices for any walk, a sit spot to come back to all year, and an Ontario year among trees. There are chapters for home and for the days you can't get out at all, and Stacy Maynard, my business partner and a Reiki Master, wrote one on taking self Reiki outside. It's 44 pages and $10.

Fay Chapple is a certified forest bathing teacher, feng shui master and E-RYT 500 yoga teacher. She writes about slower, better days after 50 at Elevated Living.

Want a calm start to your week? Join me for Sunday Mornings, a short weekly practice you can do from your kitchen table.