A Walk in the Woods

A Walk in the Woods
by
E.H. Wharton

         Yesterday, in what has become part of my daily routine, I took a walk through the woodlot behind our house. Such walks had become quite common for me and, in fact, had become somewhat ordinary and boring. That's fine with me since my walks are more of a retreat from the machinations of the world as I share a conversation with myself—my walking partner on such occasions.
         I was in a particularly gloomy mood this particular morning. My dispirited thoughts caused me to be struck by the abject brutality of my surroundings. All I could think was how the organisms of the forest existed within the tenuous confines of fierce competition for soil and sunlight, water and well-being. Yet, the thought did not tarry long, simply because this was a spring morning.
         There is something about spring, with its kinesthesia of renewal that's uplifting, even spiritual. New buds forming and bursting forth in bloom, winged insects dining on nectar and carrying pollen to continue the arc of life, the scurrying of woodland creatures as they frolic in respite from winter. You can almost hear it, almost feel things growing. It's almost palpable.
         An awareness of the beauty, symmetry, and a carefully executed ballet began to creep into my thoughts. Peace began to settle upon me once more, as it often will when I leave my self-interest and eventually notice the divine spark of nature. As my mood shifted, I realized that tree and shrub, vine and sedge, woodpecker and warbler were not genuinely in competition with each other. True, they taxed the forest to the very limits of its finiteness, yet each filled a different and distinct niche within the richness and nobility I've come to label nature.
         The mighty oaks and hickories, shade intolerant giants, seemed to dominate the canopy with their over-reaching branches that flicked across the sky, leaves flashing and fading like shooting stars at dusk. Yet, there remained a place for the shade-tolerant species as well. Though not as mighty, hardy, and strong; species like the periwinkle and hydrangea covered the ground to embrace the soil like loving mothers. The tulip and maple, broadleaved with stout boles, provided shade and succor. The fluidity of the flowering redbud, so pleasing to the eye, and the evergreens—the gracefulness of the hemlock and the density of the yew—stood in stark contrast to the pageantry and gallantry of soft-leafed deciduous trees.
         All; the renown and the unknown—each would eventually fall to the same forest floor to die and decompose, returning their essence to the earth. All that will be said of their passing is that they struggled gloriously to provide their own unique gift for which their divine purpose was intended. Yet, that thought did not permit the gloom to return because in the end, it will be neither the dominant nor the dispirited, the sanguine nor the subservient, the masterful nor the meek, that will win; it will be the forest itself—a living, breathing entity that we rarely see.
         Then came a sobering thought. Humans are the same ... each life is but a breath. It will be neither the rich nor the poor, the powerful nor the powerless, the brave nor the cowardly, that will win; it will be humanity itself. How blessed for us to be part of such a living, breathing entity, an entity that paints on a landscape more sweeping than we can ever imagine, an entity we hardly ever give a passing thought.
         How fortunate for me, I did.

The End

585 words