WIND IN THE REDWOODS

I returned to Montgomery Wood, as I knew I was going to. This time I was with my wife and we brought along Dixie the dog.

Monika, at one point, went off on her own into a sea of tall ferns searching for mushrooms (chanterelles) while Dixie and I continued up the path into the groves deeper in the wood.

At one point where the path rose up a bit to give a magical view of the trees, I stopped to listen to the wind my wife had mentioned as it pushed through the branches on the treetops.

I was captured. The wind was a murmur. It was like a song about life, letting whoever was listening sink inside themselves, because the sound resonated with something inside.

I looked up, not able to see the tops of the trees. But what I saw was their huge structures gently swaying—more-so higher up—like they were giant instruments built to play this music of life.

Think of it, there must be a reason these trees live longer than any other living thing. Imagine, they push up towards the sun slowly watching as the centuries pass! Maybe it’s the slowness of their growth that is their secret to long life. Or maybe it is the music they play—or is played on them—that soothes them and lets them understand life.

Whatever it is that happens in the redwood grove, it silenced me. There was a moment when I realized how quiet I’d become—as if I was meditating with my eyes wide open.

And when I notice the dog sitting perfectly still beside my leg, I realized we were in a holy place—that she was feeling it too. Then I knew how real my feeling was. It was something that would touch any living thing.

I think the trees themselves feel it. Why wouldn’t they? They must be far wiser in some way than we mere mortals. After all, by our standards, they are the immortals on this Earth.