silent woodland
on an autumn day
i stepped onto a well worn path
and entered the forest,
enveloped by a blanket of warm rich colors
that pulsed under a vibrant blue sky
as i walked, the path descended
then ascended in return,
creating a repetitious pattern of undulations
like a roller coaster carpet of dirt and rock
beneath my feet
the trail carved its way through the hillsides
that were littered with fallen leaves
and newly sprouted mushrooms
dead trees had become host to a number of
earthen colored fungi,
deeply rooted in the soft decaying bark…
dead trees that in their death, were now spawning new life…
one life gives, so another lives
halfway through my hike i stopped
and noticed there were none of the
usual woodland sounds…
not the soft sigh of an easy wind
nor the chirp of a single bird…
not even the trickle of water
in the now barren streambed
silence… only silence…
until i began to walk and the dry leaves crunched underfoot…
i could hear the steady rhythm of my own labored breathing
and it was then that i realized
that for now and for this moment
perhaps i
was the voice of the forest…
the voice in this silent woodland
written by: Sylvia L. Mattingly, January 16, 2018
Crooked Creek by Sue Mattingly 
Magnificent!!!
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It’s interesting and refreshing to read things I’ve written in the past. I remember exactly where I was and what inspired this particular piece of writing. And as I’ve always said, the easiest way to know me is to “listen“ to what I write. Thank you for sharing my thoughts and observations with all of your readers.
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THANK YOU! For sharing your sensitive and beautiful words with all of us.
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Such a wonderful description of how I feel when I am out in nature and observing what is happening. If only I could put words together in the excellent way that Sylvia does.
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She is so talented.
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Sylvia – I appreciate so much your reflections. While I understand the beauty of your sharing and being one with the cycle of living and decay the word “litter” brought me to reflect on a change I have seen that was lessened in the 70’s with pubic service announcements of Give a Hoot, Don’t Pollute. It seems that we are going back to an extremely wasteful time and litter seems to be increasing. I worry about my carbon footprint and yet it seems so daunting to change my habits. We must be the voice of the forest/woods because she is tired. When she fails to talk we must do so on her behalf or listen more intently than ever before – the rage of hurricanes’ wind, the snorting and spitting of a wildfire under the strain of drought, the hiss of melting ice sheets and the moaning voice of the ground during an earthquake tell us that we are going too far in taking her gifts.
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Your comment is poetic and true.
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