Guardian in the Trees
“Guardian in the Trees”
This morning I wandered into the woods at Point Defiance, seeking something I couldn’t quite name—maybe perspective, maybe stillness. The kind of clarity that only arrives when you stop trying so hard to find it.
So I walked deeper.
The farther in I went, the more the world softened. The wind moved like breath through the canopy, and the trees—tall, unbothered—stood around me like old friends who ask for nothing. I closed my eyes and let them hold me. No agenda. Just presence.
And then—a screech.
Sharp. Startling. Directly above me.
I opened my eyes to find a barred owl perched just overhead, watching me with the kind of gaze that feels ancient. Silent but undeniable.
How long had he been there?
How often do we walk beneath the gaze of something wiser than we know?
He didn’t fly away.
Instead, he called out again—loud, insistent. Not threatening, but stirring. As if reminding me of something I'd forgotten.
A guardian, a witness, a guide.
I lifted my camera. Took a few quiet frames. But mostly I just stood there, listening.
Receiving.
He didn’t offer answers.
Just presence.
A reminder that not every messenger comes with a map—some simply arrive to mark the turning point. His gaze didn’t explain anything, but it stirred something in me, something wordless and true.
As if to say: You already know. You just haven’t remembered yet.
Not a puzzle to solve, but a moment to trust.
An invitation to go deeper.
To listen more closely.
To walk forward—not on someone else’s path, but the one that is uniquely, quietly, mine.