The forest land I live on is primarily not the province of humans. Thirty of us cluster in a couple of neighborhoods, but most of the surrounding 1,200 acres is rarely touched by human feet. The trails on the upper part of the land are sculpted by deer, bear, fox, and whatever other forest denizens lurk beyond range of my senses. Unlike Ashland deer, which are no more wild than park pigeons or tourists, the forest dwellers here are not acclimated to humanity. They keep themselves scarce, mistrusting us, often with good reason, although I’ve never personally sold them faulty financial products or reneged on a treaty. So there is much more wildlife here, yet I see less of it. This gives the illusion of aloneness.

Yesterday I craved that aloneness after a hard-working and social week, so I took to the woods for a solitary evening walk, remarking in my own thoughts at the blessed tranquility of the forest. I was deep into the silence, admiring an exceptional patch of horsetails, when nearby blackberries began to thrash. I paused and waited for a deer to emerge and bound away from me like an ex-girlfriend. Instead I was startled to suddenly see a black bear, running straight towards me. Now, bears may be large and lumbering creatures, but they’re fiercely agile and can move far faster than, say, health care reform. I froze as the bear closed to within twenty-five feet, running at me at full speed, before suddenly veering off and into the forest above. It left me shaking and humbled, and in remembrance of what I wrote in Wild Grace: “The myth of nature’s boundless benevolence can be shattered in three words: things eat you.” That aloneness, that tranquility, all remembered as fragile illusion in an instant.

When I calmed down, I did the only sensible thing: I urinated on the spot. I marked my territory. I smiled then, relieved in more ways than one. I was glad to not be eaten by a creature who has no interest in whatever talents and observations of spirit I may contain. I remembered my tiny place in the universe, and kept on my quiet evening walk. I was glad to see the daisies in the meadow, when I got there. Daisies don’t eat you. I love them for that.

This entry was posted on Friday, June 25th, 2010 at 9:55 am and is filed under Grace and Tranquility, Wild Grace. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.