A Sunday walk in redwoods on a creek brought deep remembrances of childhood terrain...pilgrims, xenoi though we be....there are some places that are more deeply kindred than others and speak of home.
Children's stories often tell the the tale of babes lost in the woods...but for some of us we ~find~in the woods, learn to listen,where water sings on rocks and carves wood and stone ...
The quiet collects in shady pools...may it cling to us, follow us, back into people realms where we lay our hands to work of many kinds. I recently heard a musican suggest that music is a chance to sit quietly, to be able, under the guise of enjoyment, to think on important things in life. An artist spoke to me recently of people needing art to see things that speak inner realities, the known but unknown, the hidden but accessible if...
we want to see, listen,seek, find, be found.
He makes springs pour water into the ravines;
it flows between the mountains.
They give water to all the beasts of the field;
the wild donkeys quench their thirst.
The birds of the air nest by the waters;
they sing among the branches.
He waters the mountains from his upper chambers;
the earth is satisfied by the fruit of his work.
Psalm 104:10-13 NIV
A joyous Monday to you.
~~~
4 comments:
Lovely!
& Super pics.
There is nothing like being one with nature, and exploring all the minor details.
Thank you for this. A minute, hour, day lost in the woods is exactly what I need. Lovely words.
"we find in the woods" -- lovely -- c I am about to ask readers of my blog for photo submissions for a collection of what "Last American Childhood" looks like to them. I wonder if you'd have something you'd like to submit. The theme of this piece seems to so match up with something I've been trying to say for a while.
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