My Quiet Place, the Woods

prose and poem Sitting quietly on a rock along my neighbor's forest trail, I studied countless creatures darting about. Were they aware of my presence? I listened to primitive sounds, clear messages I did not understand. What interdependence among plants and animals, I marveled at purpose evident but unseen. I sniffed the woodsy perfume of some wildflower and walking on down the path breathed the pine needles which strangely reminded me of air-freshener. As I returned to my home, I crossed the creek clogged with trash, a rusting tricycle, bottles, cardboard boxes ... slowing the flow of water, damming the natural course of the stream. My eyes greeted the comforts of home although the rows of houses blocked the view of the skyline and of course, trees were all but gone. Glad for the relief of a clean, private bathroom but inspired by nature, I went back and cleared the creek. Sitting all alone in the woods, pondering who God is? Evidence of splendor confirms all Creation is His. Winding my way back to shelter earth's praise quickly ended. Man's disregard plainly in view - heav'n is far more splendid.