STILLNESS

 

So still, I can hear the timpani
of raindrops falling on salal,

almost detect the slimy progress

of the lowly slug, inching across
the forest trail.

The stillness here is audible: quiet

as a church, the rustling of leaves

akin to the sound of womens' gowns
as they stand and kneel

along the pews.

There be spirits here: an entire whale
that washed up years ago

lies under the forest floor, now covered
by several feet of blanketing green growth,
a land-locked being
imprinted with the sea.
I pause in reverence
at the silencing of its song.

The westerly blows in: treetops dance.

One looks like a clump of broccoli;
it sways and bends, perhaps

more like an ancient gentleman
practicing Tai Chi.

So many small sounds under the stillness,

when one shuts off thought, sound

and distraction and focuses to hear:

the sound of life, growing in its

many guises: creeping slug,

salmonberries ripening, murrelet

winging its way to its mossy nest,

a hummingbird's soft whir. The sound 

of my footfall snaps a twig,
and all creatures pause,

ears and leaves and branches
turned my way.

"I come in peace," I say,
and, more gently, now,
continue on my way.

for earthweal: Wild Stillness