When
I asked writing friends where they go to clear their heads of cluttered mental debris
and recharge, I heard “the beach” more times than anywhere else.
For
me, the beach holds little solace. Sure, it’s lovely at sunset. Otherwise, it’s
like a party: too well lit, too exposed, too rah-rah and whoosh-whoosh of
waves, bikinis, and volleyballs.
A
walk on the beach is also hard on the feet & leg muscles. Afterwards, I need a rest from that
rest.
I’m
with Robert Frost, who declared the woods his recharge station. Especially the
dark and deep ones. The sounds of a redwood forest, dripping dew, singing invisible
birds who also shelter there, and the gentle deep colors gratis of the low
light are my place of remembering that life is a gift.
And speaking of woods, nothing compares to the California Redwoods. On a hike there, we paid homage to one tree who has his own name. Methuselah is named after the biblical character who lived to be nine-hundred and sixty-nine years. (Genesis 527) The old redwood tree named after him is almost two thousand years old.
Methuselah
Tree^ (Redwood)
Woodside,
California
Beaches
are transitory. The redwoods stand and watch the sands wash away. I’ll take the
less travelled road.
