My father and I used to walk the woods together. We’d lean against the trunks of trees and watch the water in the creek (we called ‘the Muncy’), and compare it to other seasons. He taught me which bark to chew in spring, when the ground hadn’t given much else. If lost, how to find a way out - pertinent information when the edges of our farm opened into a 50,000-acre state forest we walked as if it were our own.
But the spirituality I learned there was never preached from the pulpit. It’s how I discovered faith spoken of under pine trees did not wound like the faith I heard while sitting in oak pews.
It was quieter. Less certain. More honest.
I learned hope moves in cycles. That what looks like loss often returns in ways and when you least expect it. That I was not alone in facing things in life that felt too heavy to carry. That the laws of the church were not an end unto themselves.
I heard my father’s doubts, his fears, his regrets. All spoken with humility. It taught me more about faith than anything I could see.
That faith, by its very definition, must be held loosely. It should consist of more questions than answers. Without prior knowledge, and absorbing the spirituality found in nature by his father, I’d later discover the parallels in Celtic Christianity to what my father believed.
But the greatest faith lesson that I learned while walking the land, was that faith in action allows what is unfinished to remain.
I call this a cairn poem. Gathered in the woods, built from what is seen, felt, and borne, and given form through a process of layering. Sometimes guided by image, sometimes by what is drawn and revealed. It takes from the natural world and returns to it a mark set alongside a photograph I’ve taken. As a cairn marks where one has passed, so each of these poems marks my life. A witness to what I have endured, what I have learned, and what remains.
I love the way you read this with the music, it felt like a prayer to the natural world. I enjoyed reading the story about your own journey in the forest and finding your way to a faith that holds you. Carrying these words with me: I learned hope moves in cycles. That what looks like loss often returns in ways and when you least expect it.
This is inspiring and faith-driven through your creative lens.