There are old stumps here,
relics of giants who used to
dot this neglected woodland.
And roads that have filled
in with trout-lilies and dwarf ginseng
and mayapples that
have spilled over from
the forest floor on either side,
a carpet as far as the eye can see.
Wood thrush and catbirds
have arrived, their songs the
blessing and benediction
of the day,
now joining the towhees
and house wrens
who arrived, and
staked out territory,
some days ago.
Set amid surrounding houses
and farms,
this old patch of woods is all
that remains of what once was,
an ancient-feeling sacred space,
an invitation into awe,
this secret garden, not made
by human hands.
Up early, I headed
for a handful of hidden ponds,
hoping for wood frogs.
Like the monochrome of a pencil sketch,
or the patina of ancient pewter,
grey clouds and tree trunks,
bare branches, rocks and dried leaves,
stretched in all directions.
The ponds were quiet
with no wood frogs clacking,
no frenzied mating energy
expended. But,
upon closer inspection,
there were eggs, thousands of them,
or maybe millions,
laid on submerged twigs and leaves
in the nights before.
Captivated, I turned my attention
to what was there...
leaves visible on the pond bottom,
tall trees reflected in still water,
a teasing bubble as something
swam to the surface...
something long and sleek,
something black with yellow spots,
something gracefully twisting and turning
as it descended, head down,
back into the depths.
Through binoculars and taking a closer look
beneath the water,
what had looked like nothing much
became alive with the slow-motion movement of
spotted salamanders,
creeping, gliding, crawling
over and under decaying debris,
going about their mating-season,
daytime rest.
Grateful wonder.
Enfolding stillness.
Unfolding contentment,
Contemplation of what is
rather than disappointment with what isn't.
Truly, is this not what I had really
come seeking?
What was that wild emotion
as I stood grinning,
gazing up into the bare trees
and balancing on two legs and a walking stick
so as not to topple over?
What was that exhilarating sense of freedom
as I gazed at their dance,
me tethered to the ground,
them swaying far above,
blown back and forth by
every gust of wind?
When I prayed
(something I had never asked before),
in Your kindness
You blew a breeze
that gently lifted every twig,
a whisper that rippled through the woodland
and then was gone.
What was that glad response
emanating from my deepest self?
That continues on in the memory
of the moment?
Wonder,
Awe,
Joy,
Gratitude.
