The sounds of the night comforted me some in the pitch dark night; owls and other residents of the forest called out to defend their territory, to call for mates, to communicate with their fellows in the animal and insect kingdoms. The dark forest is alive. The dark forest remains. Storms. Droughts. Fires. Snows. The living dark forest remains. This thought comforts me as I make my way back to my tent. I fumble, but only for a moment, as I search for the zipper to open up the tent. Inside is my world, my private conclave at camp, my cot and bedding, my dry cooler holding important papers & materials, my backpack, my gear and it gives me that secure, safe feeling although in my logical brain I also know the flimsy nylon material would be no match if some hungry predator was looking for a midnight snack. I know this but allow me to lie to myself about my safety, my security. But then again, we All lie to ourselves when it comes to those things, as if our homes & locked doors & windows would stop something that really wanted to harm us. Pleasant thoughts as I find the zipper and open the flap allowing the light from a small flashlight lantern I left burning when leaving the tent a half hour earlier to escape and penetrate the darkest night.
I enter the tent by closing the flap and zipping I shut, locking out nature but still in it. The darkest night is still out there. The great owls calling their questions into the darkness. The sounds of the night soothing the visitors to the forest to sleep but I stay awake, listening, searching into the darkest night. The forest is eternal but we are not, we each will face our darkest night and we will face it alone. Take with you what you brought, only the gear you can carry, the weight riding on the shoulders of your soul. Take it as you stroll into your darkest nights, I think as I lie in my cot with sleeping bag around my frame listening to the darkest night.
