Close Encounter of a Natural Kind

I park my car, clicking the lock and trudging slowly toward a nearby trial that circles a small lake.  It is late Friday afternoon and a thin layer of clouds cover the sky.  As I turn onto the trail, every visible form of life clamors to escape my towering presence. Some gain altitude, some paddle away and others scoot along the water in a significant struggle to gain a safe distance from my intruding presence. 

The resident Great Blue Heron adds to the commotion.  He lets out a guttural, caw-caw complaint at my interference in his life and flies forward around the lake, guaranteeing yet another interruption of his sublime fishing expedition. 

I continue with eyes downcast in a steady pace, expecting my way to now be predictable; however, at the next bend in the trail, a fully-grown doe comes into view and stands her ground.  The doe’s jack knife ears zero in to examine and determine the danger factor of the upright movement 100 feet in front of her.

The doe continues to hold her position and in five minutes doe and I meet—two feet apart at most—head-to-head and heart-to-heart. 

Time then stands still.  I begin to share from my heart the difficulty of living life in the fast lane and the urgency of recovering from such at week’s end.  The doe listens intently, still motionless, responding with her significant understanding of underground matters of life. 

 

The doe then seems to whisper, “just be.”  She reflects back to me the steady rhythm of life on the lake in the quiet of the day, reminding me of her season of early summer and the need to plant and give birth at the right moment in time--not too soon and not too late.  The doe refers to that “monarch in the sky” and its dominion over her most important objective: giving and sustaining life.  I sigh and look up, noting that clouds no longer hide the sun and long shadows outline my doe. 

The doe is not finished, however, and I must receive several more minutes of deep counsel that is focused on the “work” of waiting in silence.  At last I sense the freedom to move on and turn back to the trail, noticing for the first time that I am in a secret garden: wild roses, myrtles, salmon berry vines, hawthorns and salal bushes form a halo over my head.  Their leaves brush against my arms as I continue my walk around the little lake. 

I now walk strong, tucking this mysterious encounter with wisdom and beauty in my hip pocket and dropping futile labors to the ground.  Such become trifles and cannot survive a day of life in this secret garden.