Still in all

Today in his homily Fr. Stokes asked us to consider the concept of stillness – as an attitude as much as a condition. Being still, he said, is not the same as being silent. It is more than listening; it is letting go of the noise of daily life and becoming open and receptive to God. When we are still, we may perceive the "still small voice" of the All-Knowing – a mere whisper or shushing of wind.

Yesterday and today were ideally suited to cultivating stillness. The very landscape and seascape around our home were my tutors, as a rare windless winter interval turned the bay to glassy silver and the air was so quiet, you could hear a dog bark all the way across the bay in Potowomut.

A blanket of new snow has muffled our world here. An occasional arrow of geese hurtles like a black dart up Brushneck Cove. Every stalk of beach grass slants motionless over the snowy ground. The sparrows in the shrubs near the walking path sit silent, their feathers puffed against the frigid air.

When Daisy bolts across the beach behind me, her warm-blooded gallop unzips a trail across the pristine snow. I could watch her run like this forever, free in her pure joy, just as I could watch a duck trailing a V across the bay. I could hunt reflections of bright sky on still water.




On the snowy beach I am still. A solitary gull moans harshly. It is enough.