On the lower part of our property there is a waterfall. Okay, it’s not really a waterfall. It’s where the small creek that runs along our western side takes a steep drop and in one place the water falls almost two feet. Not exactly a tourist attraction but it’s my property and I’ll call it what I want. Waterfall.

I’m not sure where the creek starts but it is too consistent to simply be run off so I’m guessing that if I followed it upstream far enough there would be a spring involved. As to where it goes, considering the general slope of the territory, which is always a good thing to consider when wondering where water is going, I am confident that it eventually connects with the Catawba River.

Recently I cleared a path to a small sitting area on one side of my waterfall so people, and perhaps forest creatures, could sit and ponder there.

It feels like a mini pilgrimage when I walk down the hill from our house, into the woods, and follow the path to this spot. On sunny days, the southern exposure makes it easy to find a warm spot to sit and listen, and look, and feel, and smell, and even taste the stuff of the forest.

Sitting there brings an illusion of solitude until my thoughts turn to the activity below the earth’s surface, or the lives lived in the trees that surround me, and the salamanders who hide under the rocks and perhaps on some level wonder if that little boy that captures them and holds them captive until I make him return them to the creek is with me.

The beauty of this little spot, a tiny spot on this crazy beautiful planet, is more than I can take in. The extravagance of the Creator never ceases to overwhelm. One would think that I would sit there all day simply breathing the forest filtered, mountain air just like Thoreau, Emerson, or Oliver.

I do that a little, but then I notice that bush that could be cut back a little more to improve the visual, maybe those leaves should be swept off that stone, and the water would be prettier if I removed those sticks. Also, I wonder how far our property goes on the other side of the creek. That pole to the south marks one corner but I can’t see the marker to the north from here or remember the angle the line takes. I wonder if twenty minutes is long enough to say that I spent some time meditating at the falls of if I need to go for thirty to give myself full credit…

Dear Jim, stop.

During the first week of every month I spend some time reading over the previous month’s journal entries.
Here are some thoughts from November that jumped out at me.

– Nov. 2: Being still before God doesn’t mean extending a lot of effort to be still. Just. Be. Still. Nothing. Not waiting, not concentrating, not trying to reach some state of consciousness. Just. Be. Still. Not even worrying about listening. God will get your attention if there is something you need to hear.

-Nov. 3: Picked up Fisher two years ago today. Only dog I ever had that wasn’t submissive or aggressive toward other dogs. Who knew dogs can be a non-anxious presence?

-Nov. 6: Noticing that when stressed or fearful I am tempted to hide in magical thinking (“Lord, give me a sign” and such). Need to take a breath and act with wisdom, competence, and practical action.

-Nov. 10: Sometimes I sit outside and think how wonderful it is to own seven beautiful, wooded acres in the NC mountains, to be able to call it mine. Then I notice that the squirrels don’t mind me and the stones that were here when these hills were being pushed up are chuckling at me.

– Nov. 27: Watched a leaf fall this morning; a big yellow one, one of the very last from the tulip poplar outside my window. It banged into a couple of branches on its way down and came to a rest to the right of a stone I had placed there a while back. The entire summer on the tree, breathing and taking in light. Just a few seconds from limb to earth.

A chickadee perched above it and pooped, missing it to the left, but not on the stone. Close one.

This leaf came from a tree that I have watched grow for over ten years. A tree I will, regrettably, most likely have to take down one day as it’s on a hill and too close to the house.

Maybe I saw this leaf, without really seeing it, in the spring when it budded and announced, along with its fellow leaves, the changing season. It was certainly a part of the foliage that blocked my view of the road I will be able to see clearly through the winter.

Now it lies in the sun, awaiting rain, snow, colder days, and its decomposing. Most likely the wind will move it to another spot or two before it finally rests and becomes becomes a part of the soil, then a part of another plant, perhaps a leaf that will bud, bring shade, then fall.

I watched a leaf fall this morning. Not leaves, a leaf.