Mar 2019
A stream and pool, a gentle rain,
The smell of soaking wooded dirt
The feel of slowly cooling air in misty Summer as the gravel crunches beneath the weight of all the hopes and dreams of right now.
A distant call to wonder, a closer call to wander and a hill that hides a long walk back before the night claims victory
Mossy ponds, trails crossing trails and barbed wire blockades that shield from neighborly attack
The low call of bullfrogs and the bickering of birds, all dazzeling and swirling into a great sky of lightly dripping treetops
This beautful force of green and brown and rust and blue and quiet stillness and nature's obedience is everything that will ever matter as far as anyone can tell.
The smell of soaking wooded dirt
The feel of slowly cooling air in misty Summer as the gravel crunches beneath the weight of all the hopes and dreams of right now.
A distant call to wonder, a closer call to wander and a hill that hides a long walk back before the night claims victory
Mossy ponds, trails crossing trails and barbed wire blockades that shield from neighborly attack
The low call of bullfrogs and the bickering of birds, all dazzeling and swirling into a great sky of lightly dripping treetops
This beautful force of green and brown and rust and blue and quiet stillness and nature's obedience is everything that will ever matter as far as anyone can tell.
I spent my childhood summers in Warsaw Missouri climbing hills and hopping fences. It was lonely and tedious at the time... It was also true adventure and all I ever wanted to do.
