Staring Into the Woods

Why do I stare into the woods? There’s nothing going on there. The woodchuck is hibernating. The deer haven’t come through in a while. And don’t get me started on the owl that’s been on vacation for six months. It’s basically trees sticking out of two feet of snow that has buried the bushes and rounded the land so that everything’s smooth. And yet I do. I stare at the white landscape amazed by the intricate pattern of dark branches and trunks.

Why sit in a cathedral when it’s empty? Nothing’s going on there, either. And yet I do because I feel a presence. If I were to be poetic about it, it’s like centuries of devotion are held in the air between the vaulted roof and wooden pews.

Why I think this is, and what I think the major reason that I do this is, I like to be surrounded by something larger than myself, something grand, soaring, and noble. Something real. Authentic. This seems like a strange thing to say when talking about presence and mystery, both matters that don’t physically exist,yet are something that one can feel. It’s a gift, a grace, to sit for a time in a place that allows me to relax and breathe deeply. The wilderness is a place that helps me believe and hope in things I cannot see.