Today's world wears the background color of gray. The sky is such from daybreak to nightfall. The woods are the gray of naked, leafless trees. It is not drab and unattractive by any means; rather a subtle and subdued beauty.
There has been enough moisture in the air, and it is just cold enough, that branches of all sizes and shapes are covered with a beautiful silver frost, a special coat of twinkling beauty, as far as the eye can see.
Fog lays stretched out
lazily in the depths of the valleys. At times, it almost looks like snow covering the
mountain's sides. Soon after day break, it begins to stray quietly, slowly and surely
along the hills, settling over the surface of the stream and flat lands to penetrate every
slit and crevice of the rolling ridges. As morning advances, the mist creeps up the hills
in loving embrace; finger-feeling each mound of earth, every tree and all wildlife living
within Mother Earth. We imagine the sweet breath of the world expiring from its deepest
heart, sigh-kissing its children all along the way.
Listening closely to the sounds of the day is like living inside a symphony.
The day's background hymn is the constant, whispering hum of a quiet wind. Now and then it picks up and stirs the smaller tree branches to a clinking rustle. Occasional pairs of trees have grown close to each other with trunks touching, bark to bark. They hug and rub each other with tender murmurings expressing their mutual love.
Movement impresses us most today because colors, sounds and animal life are at such a minimum. Treetops sway to and fro, a few oak leaves cling desperately to their branches with a rustle of uncertain kinship to them.
There is a deep sense of intimacy with our Mother Earth in this part of Appalachian Mountain Country where the mountains are high, close and many. It is natural to feel a coziness with the ridges and slopes as one journeys through the narrow valleys.
It is our privilege to appreciate the majesty and the magnificence and the beauty of all we behold.
It is that out of which we came and to which we return, both individually and collectively.
It is our stewardship to care for our place here during our time on it, to protect, preserve, perpetuate it and all that therein dwells.
Copyright © 1988, 1999 Barbara A. Smith and John G. Hipps. All rights reserved.
This essay was first published November 30, 1988 in the Free-Press Courier, Westfield, Pennsylvania.