I went for a walk in the woods yesterday. It was a noisy-quiet morning, with a low racket of avian chatter and the gentle hush of a breeze in the taller tree’s branches.
I looked for movement in the stillness.
Birds escorted me along the path, dusting up the litter of the forest floor. Squirrels did the same, just a little further removed. A butterfly’s lemon-yellow wings caught in the dappled sunlight. A single sassafras leaf, angled and perfectly attuned to the soft wind’s frequency, vibrated wildly.
Immobilized by my approach to the tidal edge, tiny crabs rewarded my stillness with renewed activity. A charismatic doe, disarmingly large in comparison to all the other wildlife, lifted first her head and then her white tail before bounding off across the wetlands. In the sunny distance, heat waves shimmered above the slightly roughed bay as the water lapped at the distant shore.
Up, beyond the doe or the soaring osprey and playing gulls, a few stray clouds floated lazily by. A jet stream bore witness to mechanical movement now past. I thought about the earth’s rotation and our fierce hurdle through the vastness of space. All there, in the deceptive calm of the late morning’s blue sky.
Back under the canopy of soft new green, I marveled at the movement of growth, the barely discernible but still obvious changes, day by day, as the woods around me return to life.