Every time I enter the woods, I am reminded of
what a wild and solemn place it is. The trees creak if any wind blows and all
one hears is a raging silence. I have always found the immense solitude
calming; a comforting peace pervades the places that no humans wander.
Many times when I was younger and
needed a friend to confide in, all I could find was the forest. As tears began
to tumble in little ripples down my face, I would dash into the quiet
expanse—knowing that there I could be alone; I knew that once I reached it, the
woods would envelope me all around with its arms of safety. The adventuresome
air would whisk me away from the dangers of everyday life and never once ask
about my sorrow; it would not be anxious about me or wonder what gave me such
despair. The woods merely sat, wrapping a shell of safety about me.
It was
on such a day—I could not say now what had caused me such grief—that I hid
myself amidst a colossal wall of rocks and sobbed. I do not know how long I
sat, hidden in the countryside. (Time seems to slow when one is alone with God
and His immense creation.) All I remember is the thoughts and observances that
came upon me as I poured out my sadness to the welcoming woods.
After
some time of feeling myself an exceptionally miserable being, I rose and cast
my eyes to the world about me. I had been sitting on a flat slab of sandstone, which
was surrounded by stones and boulders of various sizes; each rock was layered
with moss and fallen leaves, and gave me the distinct feeling of its freedom
from man. Throughout the field of rocks wound a pathway, which carved deeper
into the woods. From the edge of my post, I could see the ground gradually
falling away and becoming a small cliff. Looking down I noticed many trees and
sharp descents before the wall leveled out and ran into a small, undulating
creek. I stood and walked along the small pathway that wove along the side of
the hill. Birds sang in the trees, the undergrowth and bushes rustled, and the
autumn breeze tugged playfully at my hair. The air was filled with a tingling sensation,
as if even the skies were thrilled with its own immensity.
As I watched nature’s habit
taking place around me, I smiled, forgetting my sorrow. I found myself thinking
that though I am just a small and insignificant human to the remote woodlands,
the creator of the great solitude thought me useful and needed. The thought is
both startling and comforting: I—in spite of my failures and ridiculousness—am important
to the creator of all things; I am valuable to God.
