Childhood Wanderings


Sometimes I hear things that are impossible to hear. I’m not talking about voices. I hear nature calling me. I know, you don’t have to say it. It is possible if you are there to hear it. But I’m not. I’m no where near the quiet hush of whispering pines, or the smell of fallen leaves. I don’t hear the owls hooting a warning or calling another.
I live in a bustling small town. There’s no real nature to be found here. The roads are too busy and there’s always someone within shouting distance or dogs barking. I grew up in a very small “village”. There were plenty of places to go into the woods, and hear the calling of nature. I miss that dearly.
The calling of the breeze
The calling of the tall grasses
The calling of the rubbing of tree branches
The calling of the creaking old Maple and birch trees
The calling of the squirrels chattering
The calling of rain on the roof
The calling of the wild turkeys screaching for a mate
The calling of life
I hear the calling everyday. I want to answer, To smell, feel and touch nature. The calling is loud, unstoppable and very real to me.
I miss the wonders of wandering in the woods during my childhood.