FD Thornton
The woods, once a mere backdrop to my suburban youth, now hold a deep meaning I could have never imagined before. As a teenager, I saw only the surface, the immediate. Now, in my sixth decade of living, I can see the dance of life played within the trees. The subtle twists of the plants, the towering presence of the pines, and the sandy scrubland marked with deer tracks. They speak to a world I have only just begun to truly understand.
My relationship with these woods has evolved. Hunting and fishing, once a passions, has given way to quiet observation. The sight of a deer, or a squirrel, or any flicker of wildlife, brings me simple joy. The trail, which I once effortlessly traversed, now demands a slower, more deliberate pace. My balance, no longer what it was, needs the support of a walking cane. Yet, even in the late winter's stillness, the exposed roots, the fallen leaves, and the evergreen canopy still offer a sense of peace.
The quiet solitude is a world away from the clamor of a busy life. Far away from the working-class streets of my youth in Bloomingdale, to the refined air of Savannah, and even the serene shores of the populated coastal islands. I lived through these varied landscapes only to settle in the coastal plain. Far from the shore, I find solace beneath the whispering pines, where even the distant drone of a prop plane is only a gentle reminder of the world nearby.
Reaching a familiar turning point on the trail, a simple park bench, a point far too difficult to reach. It’s a quiet reflection in the passage of time. Where I see my own children forging their own paths, and I understand. The feelings my own parents must have held. But now that I've outlived them both, I find my only comparisons now I with my grandparents, who lived into their 80’s. Time, I've learning, is a clever thief, whispering songs of youth while quietly ushering us to old age. Yet, in these woods, I have no regret, only a quiet appreciation. For the life that I have lived and the life I continue to live, although deliberately slower.
My relationship with these woods has evolved. Hunting and fishing, once a passions, has given way to quiet observation. The sight of a deer, or a squirrel, or any flicker of wildlife, brings me simple joy. The trail, which I once effortlessly traversed, now demands a slower, more deliberate pace. My balance, no longer what it was, needs the support of a walking cane. Yet, even in the late winter's stillness, the exposed roots, the fallen leaves, and the evergreen canopy still offer a sense of peace.
The quiet solitude is a world away from the clamor of a busy life. Far away from the working-class streets of my youth in Bloomingdale, to the refined air of Savannah, and even the serene shores of the populated coastal islands. I lived through these varied landscapes only to settle in the coastal plain. Far from the shore, I find solace beneath the whispering pines, where even the distant drone of a prop plane is only a gentle reminder of the world nearby.
Reaching a familiar turning point on the trail, a simple park bench, a point far too difficult to reach. It’s a quiet reflection in the passage of time. Where I see my own children forging their own paths, and I understand. The feelings my own parents must have held. But now that I've outlived them both, I find my only comparisons now I with my grandparents, who lived into their 80’s. Time, I've learning, is a clever thief, whispering songs of youth while quietly ushering us to old age. Yet, in these woods, I have no regret, only a quiet appreciation. For the life that I have lived and the life I continue to live, although deliberately slower.
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