Rediscovering Small Miracles at Petticoat Creek

Hmmm, how is that I have to constantly relearn the most important lessons in life?

It was a few ticks past 8:00 am, on this crisp, sun washed Saturday morning, as I set foot on the dirt path which ambles down to Petticoat Creek. For three years running, I've made this particular spot the opening act to launch my spring bird watching odyssey.

The exuberant song of Red-winged Blackbirds greets me intermingled with the springs here! mating call of Chickadees. I hurry down the path eager to see what lies ahead. A chip note high above and behind me interrupts my progress. I retreat, scan the trees and pick out the first tail-bobbing Phoebe of the spring.

This near miss should have been enough to slow by progress. But alas, it did not.

Striding on down the path, I note the purdy purdy purdy of Cardinals and the maids maids maids, put on your tea, kettle, kettle, kettle of Song Sparrows. But I don't stop to look. They are common species which, after all, I'll see many of throughout the day.

Hollow knocking signals Woodpeckers. Harsh tchack notes belong to Grackles. Wolf whistles register as Starlings. I've learned to bird by ear so I don't lose time chasing down the everyday species. Or so I tell myself.

I pass purposefully under the footbridge and emerge onto the beach to scan for ducks. And then, finally, Mother Nature commands my full and unbiased attention.

The lake is an unbroken pane of burnished glass. Not a ripple disturbs it anywhere. Silhouettes of drifting Red-breasted Mergansers create perspective. The barely audible whisper of water trickling onto sand is heaven sent.

And, once again, I pause to wonder: Why am I in such a hurry? What is so important that I cannot pause to appreciate the small miracles that surround me? For all I know, in this capricious life, I may not pass this way again. The only time I can be sure of is this moment.

So often I find myself waging this battle. In a confounded hurry to get somewhere although I can never quite pinpoint where "somewhere" is.

As I gaze thoughtfully across the glassy water, I realize the irony. Where I so desperately want to get to is that elusive place called "Peace". That place where time stands still, worry melts away and the weight of expectation is forever lifted.

In that stillborn moment, I relearn the lesson I've learned and forgotten so many times. Peace is not a destination. It is not a place on a map. There are no GPS coordinates to get me there. The faster I walk the farther away from it I get.

I only find peace in those moments when I stop looking for it. It arrives in those moments when I pause long enough to let it catch up with me. I can't possess it. I have to let go and let it possess me.

The quiet valley of Petticoat Creek is my metaphor for peace. A place where I rediscover that finding peace is as simple as pausing to give praise to common things of uncommon beauty.

~ Michael Robert Dyet is the author of "Until the Deep Water Stills – An Internet-enhanced Novel" – double winner in the Reader Views Literary Awards 2009. Visit Michael's website at www.mdyetmetaphor.com or the novel online companion at www.mdyetmetaphor.com/blog .

~ Follow Michael's Metaphors of Life Journal aka Things That Make Me Go Hmmm regularly at this site. Categories: Shifting Winds, Sudden Light, Deep Dive, Songs of Nature, Random Acts of Metaphor. Originating at www.mdyetmetaphor.com/blog2.

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