I
set out on my second day at Four Springs (for a personal writing
retreat) to walk in the woods, and to find the Stone Circle. I
started on a path after looking at a crudely drawn map of the
property (“Not to scale” someone had written on it; no kidding). The Stone Circle
was clearly marked, and I thought I knew the path—it was called the Madrone
Trail on the map, but on the grounds, nothing was marked. I trudged
down and down, around a meadow, then back up again, up and up, puffing and
panting, right back to near where I had started. Had I
missed a turnoff? There had been many trees felled in recent winter storms,
perhaps a path had been obscured. I walked past my own cabin again; I stopped
for my walking stick this time, and set off on the same path, to look more
closely. At the bottom of the hill, I walked a little way off the path, and
just stood in the trees, looking around. No sign of anything stone-like,
circle-like. I closed my eyes. Please, I said, help me find the Stone Circle.
Give me a sign. I spoke, I believe, to the spirit of the wood; to God; to
whomever was listening.
I
picked my way down a hillside; the ground under the accumulated leaves was very
damp, and I didn’t want to fall or slide down to the bottom. I couldn’t see the
black turkey anymore, but when I stood still, I could hear his delicate steps
rustling the dry grass ahead of me, going back up the hill. Thank God for my
staff. I was soon climbing up another rise, at the top of which there was a
little clearing. I
stood in the little clearing and looked around me.
I
noticed a tangle of the instantly recognizable dark red madrone trees. Sure enough, a few steps more up a slight
rise, and I saw a well-maintained dirt path. At one end, far to the right, a
huge tree was lying across the trail, and I remembered seeing that the day before – I had
taken it for a sign not to go beyond it – but it lay across the very path I was
now on, coming at it from behind – could it be the Madrone Trail?. I looked to my left and
saw a cascade of madrones stretching up the path, toward the top of a hill where
there seemed to be a large clearing.
I followed the path up the hill. One large stone, two feet
wide and four feet high, rose into view as I grew close to the clearing; then
another, and another – four in all. And
more—there was a maze circle in the middle of the clearing, made of branches and chunks of wood, small
and large, long, short – some barely twigs, others the size of fire logs. I stepped into the maze, following it and meditating
joyfully on having at last reached my destination. I stopped in the center,
halfway through, and listened to the silence. Out of the woods came a gurgling bird cry—the black turkey
(I was sure it was he) gobbled expressively.
“Thank you,” I called aloud. “Thank you!”
(Now you can watch the video!)
