WILDERNESS

I walk through the familiar woods,
Crossing a spine of granite ledge
To the shoulder of a hill.
A hawk circles overhead,
And far below a gray finger of water
Circles out of sight.
I find comfort in this place,
Where no human voice intrudes.
It is the comfort of silence,
Sanctified by a breath of wind
And the smell of earth and rain,
Where time and life are measured
On a clock of sun and stars
And a calendar of seasons.
There is a holy voice here,
And a space to hear the voice
Of my own heart.
Here I can walk into the other wildness,
The brambled hollows of my past,
The overgrown paths littered
With regrets and disappointments,
Sorrows and fears.
This is not a journey I desire,
But it is where I must go
To prepare the way of the Lord.
The hawk cries,
And maybe there is glory
To be discovered this gray day,
A voice of comfort, even joy,
On this Advent morning.