2013 Dawns in Silence

 The New Year dawned in silence over the valley of Traverse Run.  The fireworks, and clanging pots, and gunshot were only heard from a distance at midnight.  It's the silence that I came here to find: the quiet of eternity to bear me into another year.  I was on the trail by the time the first light appeared over snowy woods.  Instead of staying up late and being raucous, I begin the New Year by rising early and being silent.

 Someday, all our years will draw to an end.  And when they do, all that remains is the silence that preceded our clamor and din.  The dull racket of my life will cease, with its passions and urgencies, but the deep silence of the forest remains eternal.  It's the one thing that truly sustains me.  

The distant Raccoon Lake--I think--in the very middle of this photo.    

Silence is one of the few things that I really believe in, and I believe in it because it has returned to rescue me from myself time and again.  Sometimes I think the silence speaks of something more, something eternal.  I'm no longer sure of the Supernatural, but I am certain of the Extraordinary.  I encounter it in the cold, muffled quiet of the wintry forest...and elsewhere.  It has to be pursued, sought out, made central.  

The tomorrows roll in long succession.  They gather into weeks, and months, and years.  The years themselves collect into decades, eventually to dissipate before our eyes.  But silence gives me strength; it makes me accept impermanence...including my own.  Silence gives me a kind of faith that life itself is holy and good.  The silence transports me--sometimes--into mystic, transcendent experiences, especially when there's snow.