Peace and turmoil

It was a gorgeous winter day at the nature preserve yesterday. One of those days when the sun sparkles, the air is crisp and cold, and the colors of the trees and woods are a mixture of fall and winter. Not all the leaves have gone from the trees around here yet, but they will be in a couple of weeks.

I began a long walk around the waterfowl areas and former rice fields, flooded now so the birds will have feeding habitat, and immediately noticed how quiet it was. The marsh grasses were golden brown in the sunlight. When I stopped for a moment on the trail, I heard the rustle of squirrels in the woods and birds flitting about in the branches of trees and in the undergrowth. They sky was blue. There was hardly another person around.

I continued my walk around the dike that held the flooded rice fields 250 years ago on this ancient plantation site, now a nature preserve.

However, as with everything else in this life, the harsh realities of the world outside this sanctuary intrude, and there is nothing that can be done about it. In the stillness of the woods and surroundings, the first blast of the gun echoed with thunderous effect. It sounded more like a mortar than a shotgun. But it’s hunting season here.. Shooting-off-guns-season in our woodlands. An annual event in fall and winter. How utterly jarring and horrible that first loud, thunderous insult to an otherwise perfect day.

It’s not natural or thunderous. It’s not of this natural world. it’s a creation of the mind and primitive capabilities of man. Man who invents weapons and guns and bombs to kill and destroy.

I forgot about the awful noise and continued my walk around the dam controlling flow ilnto the rice fields. Then, I made my way alongside the northern edge of the preserve. The wildest part where you can look deep into the winter woods and see clearly cypress trees and swamp oaks and tupelo trees.

This is where the swamp flows out from the fastness of the interior woods through a small slough, beside which I now walk. I looked into the tea-colored water flowing gently toward the marsh in the distance and thence to the ocean a few miles away. At one point, the water flowed over a sunken log and sounded like a mountain creek rushing over small boulders. I love that sound and stopped and lingered there, listening to the sound of the water and the birds. There were no other sounds. It was peaceful. Until…..

Bam..bam…bam.. bam.. bam… and more in rapid succession.. a gun being fired off in the woods. Bambambamabam… again two minutes later. Peace and then turmoil. I loathe guns. The very sight and sound of them sickens me. War and guns. Crime and guns. Self defense and living in fortress-like houses with bars on windows and alarm systems everywhere. Fortress America. Lock all your doors and windows. People have guns. People are bad.

Another round of gunfire in the distance and then it’s over. Like a battle skirmish. But there was no enemy for this person with his gun, so near and yet light years away from the sanctuary whose very existence he sullied and fouled by his presence and his terrible intrusion.

As I watch, hawks soar and herons slide into the liquid air as on grace itself. I tried to forget what I had heard. The sounds echoed for a while in my mind then were gone. It was quiet again when I got to the woods. Silent and deep. The birds were enjoying life. I passed by with reverence for their presence and their company. The sun’s shadows were lengthening. It was getting cold in the woods until I came out onto the boardwalk over the marsh and into the still-warm afternoon sun. It felt good. Into the light once again.

(Written December 27, 2003)