When You Listen in the Woods


Don’t look at me like I’m such a fool. Don’t swoon me with your impertinent jokes, tossing poetry to the dogs of pithy laughs. I am sensitive and weak. Right, it is true that I think of myself too lowly, and that my mind often wonders to the foundations of the heart. Let me be, let me curl up here, shrink from those I know and love, let me be unknown by anyone; there is sometimes more comfort in a stranger’s eyes. I’ll wake up to find my purpose. Tomorrow’s light is always better than the evening.

I saw myself dying with a desire to see God, and I knew not how to seek that life other than by dying. Over my spirit flash and float in divine radiancy the bright and glorious visions of the world to which I go. -Saint Teresa of Avila

And as I take a moment to pause from writing this I hear from outside my window the sounds from a struggling young cat, probably defending itself from the grippings of an owl or hawk. It’s night, and the rain has passed. I soon hear a cracking branch finding path-to-ground.

When You Listen in the Woods

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s