Armstrong
Woods
My
fav’rite place on earth is Armstrong Woods.
Old
growth groves of redwoods are very rare,
A
slower flow of time is present there,
The
constant cool and stillness of the air
Resembles
a cathedral of quiet
With
filtered sunlight scattered on the paths.
Walking
on a winding woodland path
Under
the giant trees of Armstrong Woods
I
experience palpable quiet,
Something
that in our noise-filled world is rare
(Ordinarily,
noise fills the air)
But
human noise is an intrusion there.
Once
I found countless orchids scattered there
At
the base of redwoods beside a path;
I
heard a high bell-like sound in the air,
A
soft rustling whisper at Armstrong Woods,
Like
a song heard just once, a song that’s rare,
A
sound, a song, that merged with the quiet.
There
exists an interior quiet,
A
grove that’s found within the heart and there
One
enters into a stillness that’s rare.
It’s
discovered by following a path
That
resembles the paths of Armstrong Woods.
It’s
our inheritance; we are all heirs.
It’s
a grace, freely given, like the air,
A
place where all human thought is quiet,
It
is the mind and heart of Armstrong Woods
And
if I could I would always stay there,
This
grove of peace at the end of the path;
But
in truth my spare moments there are rare.
But
it’s enough to have this glimpse that’s rare,
To
rest in the peacefulness of the air
After
walking the meandering paths
That
emerge in solitude, in quiet,
In
luminosity found only there,
The
grove of the heart, the grove of Armstrong Woods.
Scatter
my ashes at Armstrong Woods,
Scatter
my ashes on the quiet path that’s there,
In
the cool air, in the quiet that’s rare.
