wild oak and pinecone dreams

When I go out walking by woods or by water, I try to keep from staring at my feet or the pebbles beneath me. I want to be wide-eyed while I study the way sunshine bends shapes and turns them into shadows. I want to know where the cooing sound comes from. I want to see every squirrel, bird, blossom, and berry.

I have a deep seeded fear, like children do when running up a darkened staircase at night, that one day the woods or I will cease to exist. I never know when the day will come, so I treat the fear like an outcry for me to never take the forest or my senses while wandering through it for granted. I may have seen the mother bird building a nest many times before, but it always feels like the first and last time to me.

I think of my life as if it were a summertime fruit, filled with sweet sugary pulp that must be eaten before it ripens and decays. I take notice of little everyday things that make life a poem worth reading aloud or an epitaph worth smiling over. If I thought of my life and where I wander any differently, the forest and the mother bird building her nest would go unnoticed to me. I could think differently and live simply without a heavy heart but life would be colorless for me. If tomorrow I lay dying, I'll be grateful to have found feelings in a forest and sugar in my everyday life.

To realize the magic of the woods, let the bark of the wild oak tree meet with the bark of the dog. There is something to be learned when you watch a dog sniffing his way through the pebbles and dirt. I love my dogs for always leading me to a place where senses are more important than destinations.