Leaving behind the chaotic façade which most think of as the real world I continue down the silent road. Small things dart around inside the tall grass looking for the lost echo of birds. A world without bird’s songs is a creation without a voice. The silver sky weeps as muted wind howls in vain. The grasses and trees began to sway gently as if dancing in time with a forgotten memory. What was the tune? It’s on the tip of my useless tongue. I have to find the answer. As I search in despair for the solution I see movement out of corner of my eye. The dark shape floats above my head and I recognize the outline of a raven. The black feathers are almost iridescent and it’s unnaturally large. In its beak it carries a scroll. It would shriek if shrieking existed. The scroll lands at my feet. I unroll the parchment and the raven circles awaiting my reaction to the mystery I hold. Scratched on the inside of the parchment were ancient symbols that spoke of lost magic and words “The road ends in silence but begins in music. Let one who knows the secrets be the voice.” I nodded to raven and he dipped a wing in reply. I would undertake his quest to where the road begins.
… to be continued.
Tag: solitude
The Road Ends In Silence
I dreamt about a world of steel and concrete.
A world where the pace was hectic and one dare not stumble for fear of the crowd.
As I walked along in time with the daily march into chaos there was a gate unguarded.
I took the chance and walked through the threshold as the outside world vanished behind me.
No more hustle and bustle.
Steel and Glass gave way to open sky. Leaving only the wind.
Pavement crumbles away into earth.
Echoes fade into oblivion as I walked at different pace.
This road ends in silence.
Little Boys and Dirt Roads
I have often said that my highway to heaven is a dirt road. Dirt roads take us to places unknown and seldom seen. We enter another world where a good ATV ( commonly referred to as a 4 wheeler in my part of Appalachia) or your own feet are the best travel options. When I was a kid we would head out on an old dirt road like the one in the feature image ever chance we got. These roads often contain mud holes that more akin to ponds than potholes. In the spring and summer they’re normally full of tadpoles and newts. My brother and I would escape the heat of the mobile home by finding one of the largest holes we could back under the canopy of the trees to play in. We’d come home covered in mud after riding our bicycles through the mud as hard as we could. We were pretending to be motocross racers. We’d slam the brakes in mud and throw it out as hard as we could. Whoever could make the biggest splash was the winner. We’d play Evil Knievel too. (For those too young to remember he was the most famous stuntman of my youth. You can read about him here). My poor mother would have two boys who looked like mud monsters by the time we were done.
Later in life I would walk these dirt roads at a slower pace while stalking deer or just out exploring. Walking a road like the one in the feature image is kinda like being on a treadmill with people throwing mud, rocks and tree stumps at your feet. The mud settles in low spots and it’s a perfect way for a beginner to find animal tracks and learn about tracking.
Today necessity keeps me on the nice pavement. I walk through a world of concrete and asphalt. But I still long for an abandoned dirt road with a huge mud hole and a good off road bicycle.
A Short walk in the park.
After yesterday’s post about the tragedy of the swan and loss I want to get back to my normal outlook on life. It might seem odd after writing about the need for community and companionship to then blog about how much I enjoy solitude but the secret is a life with balance. I have previously said that my highway to heaven is a dirt road. A nice forest path will do even better. Even if it’s a boardwalk in a park. Just escaping from the chaotic noise and replacing it with the song birds and occasional tree frog does wonderful things to my soul. The image above was taken in the Fall but in my heart it’s always Springtime in the forest. Just thinking about it brings me to a point where I can almost smell the earthy aroma of the moss growing on a fallen log. I can hear the scurrying of tiny feet in the dry leaves. Insects are buzzing about the trunks of the trees and as they pass through the filtered light their wings are backlit giving the impression of fairies living in the woods. For a moment there’s the thumping of a grouse beating the air to establish his territory. The breeze occasionally shifts and brings the scent of wildflowers. The chaos and clamor of so called modern life is a whole world away and there is peace. Just beyond the trail is a large rock or a log that is the perfect spot for sitting. Taking time to enjoy nature is like listening to God’s whispers.
The Art Of Getting Lost
Feature image take on the shore of the Gauley River in Fayette County West Virginia.
I grew up watching reruns of Gilligan’s Island. In reality being shipwrecked would be a horrible experience no matter how pretty Ginger and Maryann are.
But the idea of being in a place where the outside world can’t find you can be appealing at times. The mountains of Appalachia are full of little trails with plenty of hidden spots where one can build a fort and find peace and quiet. I had two spots in the woods where I grew up. One on a cliff overhang and another in the valley below. A small wet weather stream was in the lower spot. Surrounded by small trees with a large rock on the edge. An opening in the canopy of trees would allow just the right amount sunlight to warm up the rock. It was perfect for a young boy to climb onto and stretch out like a lizard in the Sun. As the water ran by the rock we would make little boats out of leaves and race them downstream. In those days there was no cellphones to break the silence and end the adventure. You could have the whole world to yourself for just a little while.
Nobody wants to be lost in a forest unable to see the way home.
Image was taken in Kanawha County West Virginia on private land.
However, occasionally being able to remain “unfound” for a day can be nice.
Image above taken in Beartown State Park
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