Sheltered Lands

Nine hundred feet above sea level isn’t very high.  The earth’s highest point is over thirty two times higher than where I currently sit atop England Mountain.  But at the moment, 900 is a pretty nice high. It’s been a beautifully crisp morning spent outdoors on what seems to be the transition where winter’s decay gives way to spring anew.  There’s a chill in the air.  The ground is covered in dry, brown leaves.  Above, branches abound with translucent green sprouts of warmth’s resurrection.   I sit in the presence greatness.  Amid a sea of survivors.  Trees that have outreached the competition, whose roots firmly grip the pristine mountaintop soil, snaking finger-like around boulders and competing roots squeezing a tight hold on the earth.  They are survival victors; pillars of the forest and provide the canopy under which I’ve been exploring all morning.  In their immobility is their greatness.  Patient and deliberate, tree...

I step off the trail and onto a fallen tree to break the rhythmic leaf-crunching sound of my pace.  It’s a tree that ten years ago was still standing when I last visited this peaceful and natural space. Same trail. Same tree. Same season. Ten years later. Standing motionless in mid-forest on a chilly overcast day, I begin an extended time simply absorbing the setting.  It’s a blended canvas of grays, browns, and greens… and a cacophony of sounds.  Winds rustle the few stubborn leaves still clinging to trees.  Ravens’ caws come from all directions.  Acorns randomly plunge to the forest floor.  When the wind is silent, a trickling stream across the ridge is heard.  After a while, squirrels resume their foraging, unaware of my motionless presence.  I’m no longer an intruder; I’ve been welcomed by the forest. Eventually, my legs go numb and I need to move.  My water bottle jostles as I shift my stance, bringing unnatural sounds into the ...