Walking through a glorious forest,
along a root-crossed path,
I came upon a small clearing,
where an ancient
wooden shack still stood.

A white-bearded hermit once lived
in that hut,
a lonely life,
I thought at the time,
with no one to talk to.

He was said to be crazy,
for he sat on his stool,
and fed the wild squirrels.
He talked to them, too.
I listened to him talk
and thought he wasn't so crazy,
for nature can fill the void
where other humans cannot.

He taught me everything
I know about the wilderness
that surrounded me.
I had always been afraid
of being alone,
until I started listening
to the wind.

I watched the birds
feed their babies,
then go off for more worms.
I helped him gather nuts
to feed the squirrels
and heard their
fake scoldings
in the trees.

I grew to feel at home
in the woods,
no longer afraid
of shadows and rustlings.

I return to this old shack
where the old man lived,
for I have a son now,
who doesn't understand
how an old hermit
in the woods could
change my life.
I bring him with me
to show him how
I used to sit in silence.

I bring him to help him
understand why
I loved the old man.
I bring him to teach
the art of being at peace
with himself.

Lindsey Milton 1994

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