We walked up on a ring of redwoods-surprised the trees and surmised a wordless interaction had passed in this clearing just an instant before.
You tugged me on a few steps to the ring's edge where the hillside dropped away. I felt our intrusion and joined the towering company in quiet presence. Silence invited sight, sound, and smell to increase.
Warm gusts moved rich and sweet perfumes up the slope - nudging, suggesting, penetrating. Then a chill, calm but definite, passed through me, through you- bringing a slight tremble and shifting shadows to the grass below us. I watched you lean forward like a pointer to hear more.
How could we know for sure that a presence entered us there, worked like faith in our bones, brought a oneness to your body and mine. Our sideways glances confirmed a shared sensation, for me the dissolution of distinction, and through this brief possession, a deeper drop into the gaping, mist-filled mouth at the center of the ring.
Wind gave voice to the trees that reached out above us. I heard the word 'grace' though I could not name the source of the voice that spoke this word. Then sky deepened in purples and smoke-blacks, and the ring of trees closed tighter.
Was this witnessing? What wonder, this concourse with an expanse of what existed before. That would reconvene in our departure!
April 17, 2010
Very Whitman-esque this one. Love it
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