Where I heard the call of a dove.
This morning I stopped and listened to the cooing of a dove. The gentle tone, so soft on the ears, evoked sudden compassion in me and my eyes moistened with emotion. What is it in a dove’s call that does that to you?
I’m convinced that when you begin to gaze into the heart and essence of nature, there is a hidden and non-codified morality that draws you irresistibly into its transforming presence.
The fields of barley around us are being harvested. I love watching the harvesters. There’s a sanctity to their work. It was fields like these that inspired Sting’s beautiful song, “Fields of Gold.”
Yesterday, I was standing in our backyard watching the sun going down, when suddenly in the stillness, two birds started calling out to each other. The rolls and chirps and melodious song were beautiful. They echoed under the red and expansive sky. Communication was going on, something beyond my comprehension, yet recognisable to a part of me that in itself is a mystery. A thin veil had been lifted and I was staring into a reality, both mystical and ethereal.
I took a walk through the woods today and saw the sheer beauty of carpets and carpets of bluebells. The woods were dark, but dabbled with sunlight and mystery. I had the distinct feeling of not being alone. The woods have that affect on me. When I’m in them I always feel I’m surrounded by presence. I have no language to articulate it. It’s not an ominous thing, just a mysterious and beautiful presence.
There’s something about the flow of a river that touches me deeply. As it winds its way through bright open fields, shadowy woodlands and jagged mountainous rocks giving life to everything around it, I always sense an urgency in it, even in its stillness, to ultimately find its rest in the all embracing love of the sea. Whenever I’m beside a river I think of the words of Norman Maclean who wrote, “A River Runs Through It.”
“Eventually all things merge into one, and a river runs through it. The river was cut by the world’s great flood and runs over rocks from the basement of time. On some of the rocks are timeless raindrops. Under the rocks are the words, and some of the words are theirs. I am haunted by waters.”
There are places and spaces in nature and elsewhere that are full of mysterious presence. To be in these places is to feel and experience an almost otherworldly and awe-inspiring reality. I felt this as I stood in this particular section of Rochester Cathedral.