A Stillness Beneath the Leaves
(A Reflection at Umstead Park by Jess Kelly)

A mindful mile-long stroll eased me into my sacred soul walk,
Compassionately, gently, I kissed the Earth with my feet,
Tenderly touching trees, leaves, and moss that I passed.
I soaked in the nature-y goodness,
The divine in me bowing to the divine in Nature.

A hammock between two trees by the water—
A comfortable, safe space to observe,
A place to see and be seen.
I continue to awaken all of my senses—
The sparkling and swooshing of water through the rocks, 

 the orchestra of birdsong, croaking frogs, and chirping crickets, 

 the swaying trees sighing in the wind,
the smell of wet rocks and fresh summer air,

 the sweet taste of time alone to connect with Mother Earth.

All of this called me home,
Back to my true self.

As the light danced upon the underside of the leaves,
I reflected on how that side of the leaf wouldn’t get any sun
if it weren’t for the water—
and not only does it reflect the light,
but it is playful, full of movement,
as if it were dancing.
I sometimes wonder if that’s what we’re called to do—
to reflect light into darkness,
not harshly or forcefully,
but gently, subtly,
with a curious playfulness.

That same playfulness was alive
in the frisky frolicking of dragonflies,
dozens of them skating over the surface of the stream,
darting back and forth like children playing tag,
never touching,
but always near.
On the rocks, butterflies rested like petals,
folding and unfolding their wings in slow meditation.
And below me,
ants carried out their quiet purpose,
undaunted by the enormity of the world.

A great blue heron—
deliberate, graceful—
waded into view,
each step measured as if it honored the very water it disturbed.
I watched, breath calm, heart open, honoring this sacred space
Even the shadows of trees seemed to embrace the moment.

Then, sudden motion—
a snake gliding through the water, smooth and assured.
A ripple of awe passed through me,
followed by instinct.
Time to go.

But before I turned to leave,
I drew in one last deep breath,

 full of gratitude—
sweet summer air,
laden with the green scent of phytoncides.
The trees gave this to me,
as I gave my breath to them—
a quiet exchange,
a silent communion.

One mile back through the woods to the car,
but I can always return—

 even if only in my heart,

 where the stillness of this place lives on,

 etched in breath, in memory, in spirit.