I found a friend

Kayaking

I have met few people in my day who relish the quiet of the country. Most recently I met one, who is a noisy sort, yet succeeded in bringing me to the quietest place of all: a lost cemetery close to an open field by an infrequently traveled road. We became instant friends, whilst I relished in the quiet of a wind blown field, the flap of a bird’s wing, the rustle of lilac bush leaves, he quietly lamented the lost reverence for a valley that attracted his great great grandparents to settle and participate in the growth of a nation through plantings and births, wars and personal turmoil.

I have walked through most cities I have lived in at least once from one end to the other, looking for quiet spots, places where the wind stops, and the river stills. Most often I have found it early in the morning, right before dawn. In the fall is when it seems most quiet. The leaves frozen from a cold night, leaves that are left not quite loose enough to gently float to the ground. Then, just as the sun rises, just when the sky begins its gentle change from dark ink with white spots of stars or a sliver of a moon, the sky begins to change to a lighter blue, a kind of blue mirage at its base. Then, with that little amount of heat the last leaves on the trees become loose and fall, and the frozen ones on the ground relax and crackle.

It’s rare to find a person who can find such a quiet place, and I have found one, one who has an understanding that to be obligated, by not having one's affairs in order, is to take away the only wealth we really have, to walk the earth, embrace it for what it is, not for what pillaging it will bring to a person, but to walk it with an understanding of its abundance and willingness to share with all beings an opportunity to experience life at its fullest.

Your turn….