Monday, 24 June 2013



                  No one hears the forest breathe.

                  No one sees each flap of the hummingbirds’ wings.

                  No one feels the fingers of the sun’s first rays.

                  But I do.

                  I do.

                  Noise, noise, noise. Too much noise. The kettle screeches, the cars scream, the lights blink and refuse to be put out. Away, away from the noise I run. I run and run. I run deep into the heart of the forest until I am swallowed by the soil and roots that hold everything together, gasping.

                  Here, I am safe. Here, I am home. Here, there is only the soft hum of the forest-song and the trees whispering in hushed tones while lightly dropping their acorns and pinecones into my waiting hands. I scoop up some warm soil in my palms and bury them in the earth, where they belong. The forest-song must go on.

                  The pale morning sun yawns and slowly stretches its yellow-cream fingers towards me, and I try to catch them but they shy away. I like the way the sun teases me, but it is not the voice I am looking for.

                  A bird chirps nearby, its voice trilling in the loveliest pattern, and I am tempted to follow it to its nest and sing with it, but it is not the voice I am looking for.

                  There is a sudden gust of wind that makes the leaves twirl and the branches billow and sway to its rhythm, and I hear the young leaves giggling with delight, but it is not the voice I am looking for.

                  A squirrel rushes up a tree, swishing its bushy tail and chattering rapidly, probably telling me to come with it so we can chitter and chatter all day. I like the way this squirrel laughs, but it is not the voice I am looking for.

                  I try looking for it underneath stones, by the riverbed, in the bushes, on top of my third favorite boulder, but the voice is still not there. It is not in the water’s gurgles, the ants’ working song, the tree trunks’ hum, or even in the earth’s heartbeat.

                  I try something different this time. Now, I am lying still on the ground with my arms and legs spread wide, feeling as if the warmth of the earth is pulling me into an embrace and I am sinking in its glorious warmth. A soft breeze blows by and gently strokes my face and dances through my hair, and I find it. A still, small voice, and it says,

                  “Welcome to a new day, child. I love you.”

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  1. Replies
    1. I am just the penholder, diba? YIHHEEEEE where did I get thaaaaat :))