It was just me… me and the woods under a cloudy sky.
A cathedral of trees vaulting above me– mossy and lush and elegant. All I could hear was my steps, landing softly on the muddy trail, occasionally splashing into the puddles in the sunken, uneven ground. The ground was shimmering, and my strides were only sometimes steady, mostly slipping and catching, and me, tripping over roots, my ankles balancing over the rocks. A light rain came mid-run, a welcomed friend. Tiny umbrella leaves above me kept me dry for the most part, only letting a few water drops through like tears.
There was a slight furrow on my brow, screaming muscle fibers in my quads, and mud on my calves. Here in this solitude and silence–my mind still and my eyes staring ahead, planning each step before me– there was solace, a soothing salve over my scars and this giving of the life…. I can enter the wildwood in tears or confusion and leave it with clarity, and hope and truth.
It starts to rain, harder and harder. God is in the rain. I am drenched in love, drenched in life, in all that is good and perfect. Somehow in the breaking, there is transformation. Out of the breaking of one loaf came basketfuls that fed thousands. Out of the breaking of one life came the salvation of the world. Out of the breaking of what I think I should be comes the reality of what is, comes authenticity.
So I come into the Wildwood, often receiving farther more than what I seek.