I once lived next to a forest, where the trees danced a jitterbug in the winds before the storms. There was excitement and electricity in the atmosphere, a promise of thunder and lightning. A flash and crackle shooting through the thick air to break up a dull and cloudy day.
And when it was all over, when the leaves and the lawns had satiated their thirst, the creatures would come out from their shelters with wet fur and feathers. And some of them would sing. I would open my door to the forest and stand in awe of the symphony of nature. Hooves crunched through twigs, a blur darted across the rock, something shuffled under the bushes. Flitting through the moist air a song was carried high in the trees and down in the duff.
The birds sang their songs while I sowed my seeds in a garden. They didn’t notice me or didn’t care. They were busy caring for their little patch of life. I was just their lucky audience.
If you click through to my Polyvore set above you can hear a short recording of birds singing. I was recently reminiscing about those long-ago songbirds. Now living in a dry and sandy place, I often miss all the creatures whose gifts were bestowed on me in that eden-like world. Take me back, I wanna go back, how do I get back…
But returning is not to be. Those sweet beings are no longer there. The life I nurtured there is no longer possible. But I can still plant seeds.