In The Presence Of Giants
The day was cold and gray. Camping in the forest near the river, I was awakened not by the usual birdsong, but by a brief passing shower spattering the roof of the tent. I ate breakfast in the car before driving up into the mountains. Ascending more than four thousand feet along twisting curves and switchbacks, I drove into the clouds to visit the ancient trees. As the morning passed, the rains came in scattered drizzles, while fog drifted aimlessly through the forest, growing dense, gray and impenetrable, then thinning to reveal flirtations of color among the trees.
At midday, I walked a trail that looped around a soggy meadow in the midst of a grove of the mysterious giant sequoias. I walked slowly, stopping often. In the presence of the trees, I was humbled by the force of their silent power, the enormity of their gentle strength, the energy of their unwearying patience. The few people who passed were silent, or spoke only in low, brief words. Sound is ephemeral and seems out of place here. Even the scurrying of a squirrel through the undergrowth is hushed and muted. The ancient trees in their grand cathedral are silent, and even the wind becomes still.
I had waited all my life to visit the giants. My whole life. An insignificant flicker of time. Walking among them was a moving, transcendent experience for me. They never noticed that I was ever there.