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| Marshes in the Wildlife Loop |
The marshes spread beyond me. They meandered into the distance like the mud plains of some distant continent. Strangely colored ibises coughed noisily as they waded amid the stolid egrets, the eager white herons, and the noisome gulls. Suddenly, one ibis takes to the air, followed by a flock and then the whole community soaring freely away. Here I can relax alone with the marsh, in peaceful solitude. Then again, the buzz of bikes behind me would argue otherwise. Now Jim, one of my fellow walkers, is calling back to me. Have I fallen behind? Then again, why shouldn’t I fall behind? Our path is taking us out of the marsh. There are fewer mosquitoes to flee and there’s just so much to see! I’ll still catch up if I only stop here and there. Surely if I’m just walking, then I’m not really walking.
Where am I going? How shall I walk? If I had been out in the wild with my kindred wanderer Sarah, we’d have stopped much more often and for even longer periods of time. We’d look upon a scene and try so hard to capture it. Now, looking past the shrubs at the tall grasses over the mud, I remember my camera. I think I’ll take a few pictures. After all, I can still see the group. If I missed them, I could find them again, but what if I missed these wonders about me? There would be no difference between me and the “idlers and vagabonds” Thoreau remonstrates in his essay, Walking. Their journey never elevates their spirits as it should. “For every walk is a sort of crusade,” he preaches. Then to the holy land I shall go! A cathedral of pines stands open before me. Even a vagabond may enter! If I can but contemplate for a moment the miracles within, then I might know my walk will not have been idle.
Oh, how unique is the experience of pacing over the crisp orange carpet in halls of magnificent scaly pillars. The basilica’s high roof is crowned in deep evergreen. To move through the trees feels different than to give pause beneath them. Stopping does not merely give us rest. Nor does walking only move us. As I walk with my gaze fixed onto some branch or some trunk, I see the tree come to life and move forward to meet me. See! Behind this pine tree, the whole forest circles around us! A chirp and a click catch my attention. Now I must stop. What are you hiding, pious tree? The other walkers have traveled around the bend; now it is just you and me. Earnestly I look for his secret. Then from around his shoulders, I find it! A nuthatch taps and scurries down to his knees. Now that my search has been rewarded, I must take leave. The others must surely wonder about foolish fallen-behind me.
Tiny wings whisper in my ears. Pilgrims greet me as they pass by. Some of the pines stand in prayerful silence; others raise their arms and dance before me. A choir of birds sings in the loft above their heads. There is someone shuffling at their feet. I stop again and behold the snub-nosed fox squirrel. I stop and in stillness watch. I wait until she notices me. She sees that I am no mere passerby, and she turns to look at me. I withdraw my camera; I claim a few pictures and I take a few steps. She watches my advances as she finishes her chores. Then she hops away and I must once again be on my way. I take leave of the congregation and find the walkers waiting for me at the gate. Now that we leave, I wonder what lessons this pilgrimage holds for a vagabond like me.
I came out of the bog and into the trees. In watchfulness and stillness I spoke with the lord of the forest. In movement, I walked with him through his church of pines. Had I not both moved and paused, I might not have met him. If my spirit idled at times, maybe I shall be forgiven. For if I can wonder as I wander, perhaps my next walk too might take me to the holy land!
By Jev Voight
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