a penchant for the woods...

inklings. This little nagging voice or nudge or stirring within that comes without reason or reasons. Odd as this may sound, I've been driving along and feeling drawn to the woods. I peek into various plots of land and I can't help but feeling like I should stop and explore. I wonder if there are hidden trails untrodden by human foot for decades, centuries maybe. I wonder what trees have recently fallen and the artistic placement of their unique frames. I wonder if there are any trickling streams tucked away like hidden treasures found only by the persistant dreamers who go off the beaten path in search of adventure. Do you ever wonder what has yet to be discovered? I'm not talking about electricity or flying or telephones, I'm just talking about little simple things all around us that are just far enough off the beaten path that they are left untampered with. Some trees are deformed, yet somehow recover from an early wound and turn into a work of art. Some trees grow sideways, once blown over by a windstorm only to put down roots and make the best of the leaning. You can walk up these trees without using your hands...they are still alive, yet they bear the marks of a crisis that left them jaded. Some trees grow tall and slender with limbs accessible only to fowl or acrobatic squirells. Some trees spread wide with low-lying limbs inviting the ground-bound to live a little. Some trees have done their time and witnessed centuries of life...they have watched generations come and go. They have watched our world progress, transgress and digress. They have weathered ice storms, wind storms, rains storms, and hail storms...and are alive to tell about it. They have somehow evaded the sawyer needing timber for cabinets and the woodsman needing logs for the fireplace. They are giants...and they are glorious.

This last week my eyes are drawn to the woods. Sometimes dark, sometimes filled with dimensions created by shadows and colors, sometimes green with life, sometimes covered with fallen leaves. I want to stop my car and run through them, dance through them. I want to stop and talk to the woods...to honor their silence and their secrets. I wish they could talk back...I want to ask them what they are groaning for. For some reason, its seems that they would be perfect teachers.

I love the rolling hills and the rocky crags. I love the old stone walls covered in moss speaking of an age long ago. I love the wild vegetation...the blackberry bushes, the cherry trees, the mulberry trees. I can't get enough of the smell...the rich oxygen that fills my lungs. I breathe the air of the trees to survive, they breathe my air to survive. We work in harmony to enrich each other in this web of life. We need each other strangely enough. Why did God do that?

I could go on and on...this inkling pulls me in. Most of the time I drive on by and take my place in the great circus of life filled with dealines and duties. But occassionaly I will stop and pay attention to the longings of my soul. It's telling me something about life, about God, about me.

The Woods. What a great name for a church.

Jason