From January 6, 2012
As I thought, I turned
eastward toward the forest. This is one
of my favourite places, partly due to a very old and interesting tree that
seems to have been the site of a tree house long ago, and because it stands on
the edge of the forest. I walked toward
the edge of our property and stood gazing into the woods, listening to the
sound of the stillness. Often I have
stood on this spot, the woods calling me to enter and explore, but I have
turned away either without the time or the proper clothing, longing for warm
summer days in which to take long walks through these woods and discover their
paths. But on this day I could not turn
away. I stood listening to the birds, drawn
to enter the woods, yet loathing the sound of my own footsteps. The last thing I wanted to do was to disturb
the stillness which was beginning to surround me and draw me into itself.
The draw was greater than
I could resist and so I entered, the snow crunching under my feet. Yet the birds seemed not to care. Perhaps the sound I made was no more than
that of a young deer wandering through the woods looking for nourishment in the
undergrowth. Perhaps they were simply
too occupied with their own quest for food to notice my slow movement
below. Whatever the case, I moved slowly
through the trees, away from the woods’ edge, stopping to listen to the
activity overhead.
There was a woodpecker, I
was sure. I peered through the branches
above but could not see the busy bird.
But I could hear him, though whether he was digging a hole in which to
nest or simply looking for bugs in the tree’s bark I could not tell.
I stood amid the trees, an
audience of one, listening to the orchestra playing above me. Chiming in with the woodpecker was the
distinct call of the chickadees. As if
on cue, the music of other sections of the aviary orchestra rose and fell and
rose again. Soft tweet-tweets, raspy
caw-caws, and the percussive notes of the unseen woodpecker, together sang of
the beauty over which they flew. Never
have I heard a more peaceful, beautiful symphony.
I watched, hoping to catch
a glimpse of the feathered musicians, and occasionally was rewarded with the
sight of a bird flying to a new perch, as the fluttering of his wings joined
the chorus. Often I saw a branch sway
with its changing load as birds came and went from the perch it offered.
I moved deeper into the
woods, feeling as if I were sneaking backstage, listening in on a private
performance not meant for human ears.
Yet this heavenly music is there, falling on the ears of all willing to
stop and listen.
Stop. Listen.
This is the sound of stillness, a stillness so full that even my blood
resisted flowing through my veins so as not to disturb it, or possibly to
become part of it.
“Be still, and know that I
am God,” we are encouraged by the psalmist.
But what does it mean to be still?
Here was the answer before me. To
be still, truly still, is complete contentment.
Nothing else matters. All is
peaceful. All is right. All is beautiful. Can this be found amid the trials of
life? Only in the presence of God, as
the stillness of these woods can be experienced amid the craziness of the
world, but only when we take the time to stop and feel it. I could hear traffic, far off traffic,
traffic that did not drown out the sound of the silence. I was most definitely still in the world, but
I felt not part of it in those moments.
Gradually the cold began
to invade my solitude in the form of pain in my earlobes and discomfort in my
legs. Still I hesitated to leave. The stillness I had found was greater than
even the pain of the cold. Yet the cold
served to remind me that I could not stay in the woods forever. I had to return to the house, to life, and a
good life it is.
I turned and reluctantly
left the wintery woods, the symphony playing on behind me. One last check in the barn to make sure doors
were secure and the animals were content, and I headed back across the pasture
towards the house, knowing now where peace resides.
Some Poetry...
My time in the woods, especially in winter, often brings to mind one of my favourite poems, "Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening" by Robert Frost. As I thought about this well-loved poem, another thought occured to me and when I returned to the house I decided to re-write it. I hope Mr. Frost would be flattered by the attempt and not insulted that I would change his original poem. Loving the poem as I do, I then had to look up the full original, and did another re-write keeping much closer to the original. Both are below, along with Robert Frost's original poem.
Whose Woods These Are
Whose woods these are I
think I know,
His house is in the
heavens, though.
He feeds the birds in
treetops tall
He knows each one and if
they fall.
The winter stillness,
midst the snow,
Falling on all we below,
Fills my heart with
peaceful bliss
As snowflakes to the
branches kiss.
I wander through these
woods so deep,
Wishing all the while to
keep
The peace and stillness in
my heart
E’en when these woods and
I must part.
I long to stay here ‘neath
the trees
Drinking in the pine-fed
breeze,
But I’ve got promises to
keep,
And miles to go before I
sleep.
January 7, 2012
Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
And my version...
Whose woods these are I
think I know.
His house is in the
Heavens, though;
He always sees me stopping
here
To rest my weary heart and
soul.
And though the world may
think it queer
To stop and then incline
my ear
To hear the One whose
comfort makes
Bearable the darkest time
of year.
He holds me close although
I shake
Because of guilt o’er some
mistake
His promise clear that He
will keep
Me ever in His warm
embrace.
The woods are lovely, dark
and deep.
But I have strength from
Him to keep
Me going on until I sleep,
To live for Him until I
sleep.
January 16, 2012
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