A place to call home..

These woods that surround me are my protector, my guidance and my kind. As midnight falls upon the forest, the mystery of the land becomes real. You are unable to see anything past what your eyes allow and each sound of breaking tree limbs becomes real and uneasy. You began to question what is living past your eyes and what will be coming up behind you in the darkness of the night. The night is still and quiet and each sound becomes magnified by the darkness. As the dog growls in the middle of the night, you began to ponder what is standing outside your open window.

You hold your breath and listen to the sounds and as no sound becomes parent, you close your eyes and wait for sunrise. The sunrise is magical as the soft light hits the trees and all becomes awake again. The woods are no longer full of imaginary creatures, for now you can see miles and miles ahead of you. The rustling of the trees began to move and your head shifts attention fast. You see a friendly face bounce in the woods graceful and knowledgeable. That deer has called these woods home and so have you.

You probably know that you should be frightened of what lives behind the trees and deep into the land, but you know that it is your home and has been since you were a child. The woods have comforted and guided you into all aspects of life and all decisions made. The rivers are your home and your path to life. As a river that flows hard, loves hard. The woods call for respect and even though it is a respect that is not spoken of, it is a respect that is shown. The sap of the trees flow like gold that has been discovered in the heart of the line. The sap is strong, pure and steady. Each pine cone that lies on the ground has a story to tell of pure rejection. They lay humble on the ground and ready to be swept away by the winter months ahead.

The sound of thunder approaches mildly and all in the land becomes ready for the storm that will soon hit. The rain brings out the smell like jasmine rice to a Chinese restaurant. The nostrils become large and full of smell. It is a smell of familiarity and comfort. These woods are home; they are accepting of all flaws and allow for pure joy.

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