On my first night in the Adirondacks, my brain is on fire. Obligations forsaken weigh heavily… reports unfinished, correspondence pending, family matters needing attention, personnel concerns, an organization on whose board I sit needing some advice, my neighbors back home wanting me to do something about my fence. The noise is deafening. I swear I will never again mix a bottle of 5-hour energy with Diet Coke while driving the NY Thruway.
But then, the cool blanket of the Adirondack night tamps down the flames, and the silence begins to have its intended effect. This is a silence that is deeper and more profound than ever possible in a city. Birds stop chirping after dark. Night beasts prowl about on velvet pads. On a windless night, not even the patter of lapping waves interrupts the utter silence of the forest.
By the third night, I begin to forget what it was I was supposed to be worried about.
This is why I come to the north woods. Peace and quiet, blessed solitude, the restorative powers of nature.