(This post was originally published at www.kevinclouse.com)

I go to the woods and wilderness to find life. Some people go to malls and stores, some to bars and clubs, others to Starbucks. But the woods and wilderness are my sanctuary. I drove my rundown Oldsmobile to the woods on a bleak, gray day, with a bleak, gray wind blowing through my soul. I needed peace. Stillness. Something to smile about. God. The trail was lost under deep snow, and I hadn’t worn boots. I forgot to see the first mile. I’d walked this trail so many times before, I could do it without seeing the path and the trees and the frozen brooks. Stress, worry, and fear chewed at my brain and my heart and my guts, relentless as mice.

I arrived at the big stream, the one where the trail divides. You can go straight and walk calf-deep through ice water. Or you can go right, curve through the woods, and then walk over the water on the wooden bridge. I chose the bridge. Looking down at the black current, globs of gray slush and cold bubbles caught in its grip, I saw. I saw a tireless throb of water, feeding moss and grass and trees, pushing toward Whitford Lake. This water is life for carp and beavers and a family of ornery swans. A long time ago, at another wood by another stream, God whispered to me that he is like that water. A tireless current. A source of life and power. I remembered.