There is something sacred in the deep, quiet wood.
There is an escape from this modern world.
Here, time is allowed to lapse at its own, unhurried pace.
“Act Now!” Order Today” “Don’t Miss Out!” ”While Supplies Last” “Limited Quantities Available”
Here are the same things that have been here for a thousand years, five thousand, who knows, a hundred thousand? Bedrock and stone. Moving waters. The same trees grow each hundred years, and the same nuts fall every autumn. The inchworm climbs over the moss the same way he has since the last glacial recession opened new inchworm territory.
“New!” “Improved” “The Latest!” “Just Released” “Grand Opening” “Coming Soon”
Looking down I see earth and dirt and sticks and humus and lichens and bugs and mushrooms.
The track of the White-tailed Deer, giant comic prints of the Wild Turkey, tiny footprints left by the passing field mice. Tracings of wings in the snow where a Barred Owl invited the mouse to lunch.
There is no concrete, no blacktop, no glass, no stainless steel, no copper wiring, no asphalt shingles.
“Whole-house Vinyl Siding Sale!” “Road Closed For Paving” “Custom Replacement Windows”
There is a ringing in the trees. It is the four billion year old wind, transiting my wood for the four billionth time, each passing as sweet as the last. There is a ringing in the air. It is the caw of the crow, the screech of the jay, the honking of Canada Geese waving goodbye for the ten thousandth year in a row. There is a ringing in my spirit, giving birth to the song in my heart.
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A dog chases a squirrel. An autumn leaf falls to the forest floor. A Catbird calls.
A man walks.
And we are timeless in our serenity. We have loosed the bonds of modernity, however briefly.
Here, I linger.