My Silent Spring

Monday, (May 1, 2023) 8pm

My Silent Spring

It was almost quiet. Almost warm.  And almost Spring.  Except for the distant rumble of a jet engine flying a mile above, the silence of the forest was filled only with the faint murmurings of a bird’s trill, a rustling wind, grasses in vibration and the footsteps of deer hooves navigating the soft earth underfoot. 

Nature’s voice defines and defies the quietness that surrounds me.  The resplendent allure of the Spring Beauties draws one close in to whisper its secrets and then bursts opens to the sky itself and speaks louder than any of the other forest sounds--declaring the delicate fine-lined artistry of God Herself untouchable in her genius design, ready with a full palette and presence of being.  As the wind rustles the mountain grasses I feel seen, spoken to and fulfilled by the conversation.  She never tires of quenching my thirst and I never tire of seeing her offerings to my wandering heart—every pinecone, every flower, every plant left standing from last year dried in the autumn Sun and frozen in winter is waking again now in Spring’s first warming light.

My only comfort is Nature.  She succeeds where others fail and is steadfast in her support of me.  She does not ask me to ignore what is happening or spare her feelings.  She comes to me fully exposed—orderly and disorderly—making up for what I lack.  In offering me a place to sit and ponder or just rest my mind in her visions of rock and wood, she rescues me from my own visions of trauma.  Her flowing waters reflected in my own eye bring me to the depths of restoration and renewal like the most beautiful notes of a song, replacing my tears with quiet joy.  The rolling sound of the creek’s melody brings me hope for sustaining life.

To those who cannot embrace Her, who will not embrace Her wonder and mercy, I pity you in your separation from Her as you turned a darkened eye upon Her pure self.  She is a guiding Light with the wisdom of Creation to share, divinely expressed through all of the life she sustains.  She bears all things through all time. How can I not love her.  And when I cry to her for comfort she shows up with my truth in gentle repose, transmuting my suffering, cupping me near her bosom.  She holds my every step upon her, supporting the weight of my burdens.

As I sit here deep in meditation and observation, Spring awakens in her and also in me. I feel the astonishment of life for itself—bird to bird, tree to tree, flower to flower—and I cannot ask for more.