Armstrong Woods

[Jim Wilson]

Armstrong Woods

My fav'rite place on earth is Armstrong Woods.
Old growth groves of redwoods are very rare,
A slower flow of time is present there,
The constant cool and stillness of the air
Resembles a cathedral of quiet
With filtered sunlight scattered on the paths.

Walking on a winding woodland path
Under the giant trees of Armstrong Woods
I experience palpable quiet,
Something that in our noise-filled world is rare
(Ordinarily, noise fills the air)
But human noise is an intrusion there.

Once I found countless orchids scattered there
At the base of redwoods beside a path;
I heard a high, bell-like sound in the air,
A soft rustling whisper at Armstrong Woods,
Like a song heard just once, a song that's rare,
A sound, a song that merged with the quiet.

There exists an interior quiet,
A grove that's found within the heart and there
One enters into a stillness that's rare.
It's discovered by following a path
That resembles the paths of Armstrong Woods.
It's our inheritance; we are all heirs.

It's a grace, freely given, like the air,
A place where all human thought is quiet,
It is the mind and heart of Armstrong Woods
And if I could I would always stay there,
This grove of peace at the end of the path;
But in truth my spare moments there are rare.

But it's enough to have this glimpse that's rare,
To rest in the peacefulness of the air
After walking the meandering paths
That emerge in solitude, in quiet,
In luminosity found only there,
The grove of the heart, the grove of Armstrong Woods.

Scatter my ashes at Armstrong Woods,
Scatter my ashes on the quiet path that's there,
In the cool air, in the quiet that's rare.