Solitude

October 13, 2017

It’s quiet out back. The trees etch the sky with jagged tendrils that reach in vain for the clouds, while the geese honk their way from behind the brow of the hill across the road to the tree line opposite. Far above is the faint trail of an almost invisible jet. The leaves slowly twist their way through the air to join their companions that litter the deck and chairs and grass. A few land in the creek to float their way downstream where they will eventually sink to become one with the muck that feeds the cattails and arrowroot down at Redbird Corners.

Only a half dozen steps separate this little corner of solitude out back from the sounds of the road out front, the comings and goings of people who have places to go and things to do, while little thinking of why they are going and doing. A falling leaf doesn’t question why it tumbles through the air, and the creek bubbles and gurgles its way over the shale and gravel beds as it has done for perhaps thousands of years, insensate yet fulfilling a destiny written in gravity and hydrodynamics. The scene holds a beauty that cannot be fully expressed in words; it must be seen and smelled, felt on the skin, heard in the crinkly crackle of leaves and twigs underfoot. 

It was only a few moments snatched from the grasp of a busy day and full calendar, but when one stops completely enough, inhales deeply enough, looking and listening not only with eyes and ears, but also with the soul, those few moments yield nourishment that has its own unique satisfaction. The day is good, as is the God who brought it to me, and I give thanks.