Experience these, for a Sunday morning meditation.
1. Stand at the edge of the trail, above the creek running vibrantly with two days of rain. Witness the sounds of the roiling water as it echoes up the sides of the ravine, rapturing amongst the majestic boles of Douglass Fir and Western Hemlock, rising straight up out of the lowest points as silent sentinels. Notice the Maples, bending and cavorting to reach whatever sunlight slips through the upper canopy of evergreens. Follow the gentle mist, traveling at the whim of the warming morning sun. The very droplets in the mist drifting by, still in solid form due to the moisture laden air. The freshly greened moss clinging to the very branches of the trees, sometimes so tightly as the felt covered antlers of the deer, livened and saturated by the rain, dripping. Water drops forming at the tips and buds, gathering, gathering, before letting go into a free fall, like a parachutist enjoying the rush.
2. Stand in a little island between two forks of the small rain fed creek, immediately above where they join again together. With your back facing upstream, a small, yet vocal falls behind you, close your eyes and hear every tumble and toss, every ripple and spill, every splash and dash of the water wrapping around you, like a mother’s embrace, joining again in front of you.
3. Now go stand in the Trees, with the frolicking stream slightly more distant, yet still a part of the experience of water everywhere, from stream to saturated moss to large drops splatting on the leaves of the forest floor with a resounding whop. Feel the moisture in the air and the very pores of the Woods opening to accept it ’til full, allowing the excess to travel on down the hill, down the ravine, down the small stream and on to the river.
Peter J Quandt