I was walking through our woods today, on my way to meet our neighbor Hercilia for our daily walk. I had my head down, being careful not to trip over rocks and fallen logs, when I heard a thunderous noise that sent tremors through my body. When I looked up, a herd of six or seven deer, big, bold and beautiful, went thundering by about fifty feet ahead of me.
I've seen deer before, but they've always seemed bouncy and delicate—nothing like this thundering troupe, so strong and proud and intensely wild. The sight of their sinewy muscled agility took my breath away, while their resonating hoofbeats reverberated through me. I stood staring, transfixed, my heart beating in time with the rushing hooves, until they were out of my sight, charging down the ridge.
The wind was thunderous and powerful today, stronger than I’ve ever experienced it here—which, considering the crazy winds we get, is saying something. As I often do when gales are strong, I felt like I was at sea during a storm, the treetops creaking and swaying about wildly like waves on the ocean. Our little house, stout, sturdy, and stable was in the middle of it all, the eye in the hurricane.
All day long, I could hear gusts of wind approaching. They'd come barreling over the mountains, a great rushing force like a train on the move, the thundering, wooshing sound of treetops growing louder until the wind was upon us, rushing around and through and into our homestead with an unbelievable force, sending trees awhirl and and a fleet of cottony clouds scuttling past.
It isn't every day that I remember what a wondrous gift it is to be here, or how these primal, soul-nourishing experiences were not available to us at our old suburban home. I am so thankful for this wild woods of ours.