And God Walks Here

Walking over the summit of My Hill, looking solemnly down this chosen valley, I spied a wood
Green, of conifers and ivy and holly and pine that so surprised me in this blank, dull, grey
Winter. A vision of Spring before me, I skipped down towards it like a little boy, enchanted, mesmerised, as if Christmas had come
Early. A bird, a pheasant, a male with a magical long tail was disturbed by my commotion and flew
Noisily, eloquently voicing his contempt from a nearby pine tree. I am
Still, watching the wood but not entering, instead, humming as I stand here, absorbing the soul of the wood before me. I
Wonder, what is the woods name? I
Breathe in, breathe out, and I
Wonder, what is this woods name? I can see undergrowth of gorse and bramble, and I
Smell a carpet of wet pine needle, and old, ancient earth trodden by bear and
Wolf and dark age hunter stalking pagan venison supper. A flicker of
Sadness. A strange longing, and something deep inside of me is whispering urgently, insisting I pause and resist this unexpected treasure. A blackbird sings, and the notes of the
Song are like the start of a symphony, a composition in the key of the wood and the style of the tree and leaf, orchestrated by the earth beneath my feet. The
Earth beneath my feet is alive with earthworm and fungus and old knowing stone, and needs to understand I
Belong here. The earth beneath my feet is childhood, friendship, love, regret, solitude, memory, time, wonder, joy, loss, devotion, and
Life, and the earth beneath my feet is
Death, and

God walks here. Breathing in, breathing out, and

God walks here.