Thursday, April 13, 2017
Wordsworth was right.
The World is too much with us...
In the early daylight hours, my once-quiet world becomes racked, yet again, with the Noise of men's machines.
Trucks, electric saws, mowers, and leaf blowers unite to produce one, huge, truculent Cacophony,
A continual assault to my ears.
And the building! It seems never to cease!
So I grab my walking poles and set out on a long excursion by the lake.
There, I slow. There, I can feel the morning breeze breathe...and I with it.
Discern the soft and tranquil twitter of the wild birds as they build their nests,
A building that is serene...akin to the earth, and most pleasing to my senses.
My pedestrianism is a rebellion, and in some ways like that of Emily Bronte
(For a woman to go walking in her time, especially alone, was considered defiant and odd).
But for Emily, to walk the moors in solitude was freedom from constraints, and a prayer.
Mine lies in the defiance of unadulterated, manmade noise.
So I go to hear the flowers bloom.
I go to imagine, as I walk, the soft sound of an animal's footpad in the woods.
I go to drink in the lapping of the water against the lake's shoreline,
And gather in my mind the grasses as they softly swish in the wind.
Yes, I go.
At night, my world is different.
I lie in bed quietly reading,
My window open to the muffled undertones of the owl's trill in the woods.
And, putting aside my book, I close my eyes, still sustained by my morning's walk,
And breathe in the Eyes of the Night.
© 2017 Nancy Duncan
Posted by Unknown at 9:18 AM