Solitude

I have the good fortune to be staying near Zion National Park this weekend and we’ve seen some amazing country the past day or so. The nature of my current trip is that I get several hours of time alone out in the wilderness each day while my fellow travelers are occupied with other activities. I know some people would dread such time, but for me it comes as a golden opportunity. I crave the wilderness and love a little solitude now and then. Being fairly distractible, I sometimes have trouble relaxing in the midst of my busy life. However, nature relaxes and recharges me. Indeed, I firmly believe that we were designed to respond to the wonders of creation. So I’ve been out hiking, exploring and writing by myself. I even had a nice long nap under a pine tree in the middle of nowhere. We are clearly sociable animals, but we also need to take time away from people occasionally. At this very moment I’m sitting out by a river enjoying the sound of the water. The moon is up and the crickets have just begun their evening serenade. What could be more relaxing or refreshing? These are the kind of moments which calm my spirit and cause me to think more deeply. In this place, at this time of day, the feeling of peacefulness is almost palpable and an overwhelming sense of well being has descended upon me. It’s my favorite kind of feeling. I hope and pray that you may find such corners in your own life to enjoy solitude and I offer one of the poems I penned this afternoon which I hope will provide some inspiration.

Solitude
The world is filled with distractions
And attractions of every kind
Bombarding our senses each waking hour
But where can a man unwind
Where can he flee when his spirit
Longs for a peaceful interlude
When he wishes to keep his own counsel
And find the wisdom of solitude
Then he must flee from the city
Beyond the reaches of men
Beyond the walls of brick and steel
Which enslave his heart time and again
For out in the open spaces
Where only the sound of the wind
Whispers into a man’s weary heart
Can he can hear the still small voice within
By Frank Carpenter ©