It is a hot, muggy day, and because of this I am looking forward to my walk in the cooling woods even more than usual. As soon as I enter, I once again feel the weight of responsibility drop from my shoulders and the strength from Mother Earth seep into my body. 

On this particular route through the woods, I pass two benches, beautifully situated to take in the grandeur and stillness of the verdant surroundings. Usually I stop at one of them and sit in sacred silence until my body, just knowing it is time to move, gets up and moves.

On this particular day, I come to the first bench and find it already occupied by an elderly man reading a book with great concentration. “Can’t stop here now,” I think, and continue on. A quarter of a mile later, I come to the second bench. It’s vacant. I sit in awe, taking in the air, the smells of the earth, the song of birds, and the majestic trees around me. 

After, I continue on my walk, circling back to retrace my steps to where I entered the woods. As I come to the last leg of the walk, I hear the most angelic music emanating from the forest. It’s a cello. Someone is playing a cello concerto. I want to identify which one, but realize this is just the mind imposing on the wonder of the moment its need to label things that cannot be labeled.

As I continue walking, the music grows louder and more alluring. Turning a corner, I come again across the first bench. The man with the book is still sitting there, but now not reading. His book remains open, but he has been transported into another realm. The musician sits beside him, enraptured in the music coming from his cello through his fingers. What a pair: the giver and the receiver – and this environment that transmits so purely and perfectly.

I stop. I breathe deeply. I lean against a Douglas Fir and just listen and listen. In time, this heavenly and unexpected gift prompts me to go up to the musician to express my gratitude. I walk over and stand right in front of him. I wait and wait. He is so enraptured, he does not know I am there. Daring to break his reverie, I speak: “Thank you.” I say this three times before the musician becomes aware of my presence.

The first words out of his mouth are: “Oh, am I playing too loudly? I am so sorry.”

In disbelief, I respond, “No, not at all. I just want to express my deepest gratitude for playing this beautiful music for us.” 

“Oh, please, that’s nothing,” he says with a brushing away motion, as if he is truly unaware of his exceptional talent and embarrassed by the compliment.

Heading back to my car, still carrying the vibrations from the cello music within my body, I think of this forest musician and ponder how often most of us don’t even recognize the gifts we give to people because, to us, it seems so natural to have them and express them.