Stopping By the Woods
I slogged into the soggy field with a world of worry.
Trying to shuck off the stresses of the day with a brisk walk, I began circling the field of my childhood. Dixie Chick’s Wide Open Spaces came to mind.
As I walked, a lightening took place in my heart. I rounded the east side of the field, the setting sun caressing my face from the west. Heaviness eased within me. I saw the tracks of swift-footed deer in the mud. Something scampered away in the forest near me.
Alone, yet not alone was I. Mother Nature silently soothed me.
And if I were to give up and just lay on the soggy grass, she’d just welcome me back in, dust child returned home. Somehow that knowledge stills me, a reminder of all I am not. Every blood-drawing scraped knee reminds me Who is in control, and it’s not me.
Why don’t I do this more often? I wondered.
I am a child of Missouri. Creek-swimming and hill climbing and hay-bale jumping and pond fishing and blackberry picking and tadpole catching, and firewood fetching. Sometimes we have to return to our roots to remember the child we once were.
And lay down the weary worries of adulthood on the shoulders of someone bigger.