Hearing My Ancestors

I arrive at the edge of the wooded area near my home in the quiet, dimly lit moments just before sunrise. I begin walking eastward, the crisp October breeze at my back. I pick up the pace, briskly walking toward the east. My rhythmic footfalls become my heartbeat, and my sight becomes a sense of wakeful dreaming. In October’s multi-colored foliage I find salvation for my brain, a place to rest old thoughts and gain new perspectives. I gaze toward the sky, my soul expecting to see a blue sun, as if the rays from the now rising sun would somehow be colder in the chilly air. Instead, the rays are still golden, divinely warm upon my chilled skin. The wind carries the aroma of the landscape, from rain quenched soils, to sunlit stream, to the evergreen foliage. I hear something rustling in the trees. I pause and listen… Listening in a deeper way, I hear my ancestors walking behind me. "Be still and listen," they murmur. "You are the result of the love of thousands."