Where None Intrudes
“There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,
There is a rapture on the lonely shore,
There is society, where none intrudes,
By the deep sea, and music in its roar:
I love not man the less, but Nature more”
― George Gordon Byron
I have been a bit off my routine as of late, I guess holidays and the onslaught of a cold (or whatever this is plaguing me) will do that. I went out to take care of some chicken chores and found myself being pulled into my woods. It felt good. My medicine. Fresh air and wonderment.
Mesmerized by light and shadows. Following fox tracks in concentric circles throughout my property in hopes of finding (never did) a den. Picking up the big buck’s tracks, happy to see he made it through the hunting season. A roaming troop of turkeys marches through. They don’t mind me, until I start following them, that is.
And then a recent favorite, sacred spot of mine. The holy light cuts through the canopy in all the right spots and illuminates a perfectly arched resting spot along the bole of an old mighty hemlock. A cushion of moss beds the ground underneath the tree, a spring-fed creek along side it feeding into the swamp.
This spot, sitting against the tree’s perfect curve, is my heaven.
I won’t abuse it. I don’t go to it too often, it is too special to me to make it common place. For special moments. For me.
Where none intrudes.