Now and then I write about the walks my daughter and I share in the woods at Eno River State Park, 4200 acres of protected habitat nestled between Durham and Hillsborough. These rambles have become a tradition, as we speak in hushed tones in a forest more familiar and vast than an ancient abbey or soaring cathedral. Here the markings of man upon the earth do not jar the senses; rather, they blend with nature and appear as primal and common as a beaver dam or eagle’s nest.
We see the ruins of an old house back in the woods off the trail and move to investigate.
In its prime we imagine this house full of life, of crops to harvest and children to teach and fences to mend. Seated high above the Eno River the sound of rushing water echoes as a symphony among the trees. In the gloaming the creatures of the night must appear, taking their place upon the land while others dream of sunrise.
We walk in the shadow of years and stand where the front porch used to be, sensing the lives that came before and sharing memories past and dreams to come. The old house stands as a reminder of the fleeting nature of things and paradoxically, their permanence. The forest reclaims its own, implacable and kind. Renewal offers a timeless glimpse of ourselves, alive in all things, then and now.
whoisfenton 