Whispers of the Wild
I am found everywhere. I have been here for a long time and have had time to grow just like anyone else. The forest is my body, large and full of life. The trees are my limbs, with bark acting as skin to protect my sensitive insides that tell a long history. The large expanse of hickories and oaks reach to the sky, begging the clouds to quench their thirst. The rivers provide what nutrients they can, acting as my veins that spread my life force across the terrain, my body. And the wide range of species—black bears, white tailed deer, salamanders, elk—provide evidence of my beating heart, evidence that I am here and active at all times.
I can feel a sense of warmth and comfort that I have not felt in many years. Someone has arrived at my borders. They trace the pebbles that line my entrances. I can feel their intake of breath, as they adjust to my fresh aroma. They are happy, almost excited to see me, a feeling that still hits the same way it did so long ago.
Back then, the people of my lands would worship me. They would tell tales—legends—about my creation, where I came from, how I came to be so beautiful and alluring. Tales of a “Turtle Island” graced my leaves, making me feel, for the first time, how loved I was by someone. I was important to someone; multiple someones who actually thanked me for what I provided to them. And, in turn, they provided me with the love and affection that was so necessary to my development, painful as it may have been. We supported each other as best we could.
Over the centuries, I noticed how people forgot about what I provided for them. Over time, they forgot how my body provides the air they breathe, how my blood is the very substance that keeps them strong and healthy. Years passed, and the people that had worshipped me so heavily quickly vanished from my sight and out of my borders. New people began arriving, bringing with them diseases and technologies that I was not yet aware of. While diseases drowned out the voices of my followers, the technology changed my shape and size, dwindling me just the same. I began to lose hope in humanity, as no one chose to visit me and gaze upon my vast beauty.
Now, a new someone has arrived. I can feel the steady heartbeat that carries through the air and graces my “skin.” I watch her through the eyes of a chipmunk that rests in the bushes around her feet. She wears a pair of neat hiking boots, long pants that cover as much skin as possible. She has a bag strapped to her back, which looks lumpy and full. I look up to see her carrying something, though cannot quite make it out through the chipmunk’s eyes.
I fly around through the eyes of a blue jay that lands in a tree just above her. We look down at the girl. She carries a baby; my baby; my sapling. The sapling is small, as they usually are, though I have not seen one in so long. Its tiny branches are so small and meek, and they sway in the soft breeze coming from the east. Its leaves are large, almost too large for its small limbs. I feel a sense of yearning for the small life in the girl’s hands.
The girl walks forward, and I follow in the form of my blue jay. She sets the sapling down in the dirt and pulls her bag from behind her. Quietly, she unzips the bag and removes a small shovel. She plunges it into my soft, painless dirt, making space for the new arrival. As she digs, she begins humming a soft melody, and I follow her figure back into the form of the chipmunk. We gaze at her crooked-smiling face as she picks up the sapling and places it into the dirt, granting a new life into my care.
The girl stands up and gazes at my world around her. “Here ya go,” she says. “I hope you enjoy the gift.”
I, and all the animals around her, gaze in admiration at the random act of kindness, hoping that someone as kind as her will return some day.
***
The sapling continues to grow and flourish over the coming weeks. I feel life spread through me as it begins stretching its legs—its roots—into the soil, marking its own territory. It is a simple being, not asking for much more than sunlight and water from the coming storm that is hinted at through the dark clouds. Continuously, I wait for someone as nice as the girl, or even the girl herself, to return. No one complies.
I can feel a storm dancing its way towards us. The winds carry its thunderous song ever closer minute by minute. Animals begin finding their places to hide, also feeling the chill in the air. The trees sway in the strong breeze, and leaves begin their fall to the ground as winds reach their pinnacle. The symphony of raindrops begins falling to the ground, hitting leaves, moistening my skin, and feeding my people. The water accumulates into puddles here and there, refreshing the soil for another day. The winds, using all their strength, pluck the weakest limbs from my trees. They fall to the ground, disgraced by the strength of their brothers who were able to resist the wind’s attack.
The storm comes so quickly, and leaves just the same. To replace the chill, a familiar sense of warmth and comfort graces my body. I jump between the eyes of the deer, the bear, and the elk, finally finding the girl I was looking for. She enters my borders and, again, is soft and gentle.
She slowly walks over to one of my trees and places her small, soft hand on my skin. The post-storm winds blow her light-brown hair in circles around her head, and the sun pops out between the open spaces in branches to shine upon her kind face. She begins laughing, then speaks again: “I’ve missed you, too. Sorry I wasn’t here sooner; the storm blew me away.”
The wind prevails again, yet not from the storm. It sparks the girl to spin in circles, laughing heartily at the way we communicate with her. Her kindness is a strong force. It pumps through her veins just as strong as the waterfalls that spread my own love.
I can sense the presence of my people, the animals, who also want to connect to their apparent savior. I jump into the body of a deer and stroll through the shrubbery towards the girl. When I breach the small opening in the forest, the girl pauses. Her brown eyes stay wide open, almost afraid to blink for the fear that she could miss even the smallest, most important moment.
I slowly move towards the girl, the deer’s legs wobbly thinking about the small chance that this could be a mistake. As I approach, the girl stands her ground, and reaches out a small hand. I come closer and closer, just enough to sniff her thin fingers, then I lower my head just slightly as a way to put her respect to the test. She slowly rests her hand on the top of my head, feeling the soft fur that covers my brown skin.
A surge of positivity and joy flows from her hand into my consciousness; she has passed the test. I feel her excitement, her slight panic, the way her mind is racing with so many thoughts that she can’t get out. Finally, the girl opens her mouth and utters one word, “Emily.” Her face beams with another smile when the birds begin chirping louder around us. Leaves rustle from the wind that blows again, looping through the curls of her hair, down her legs, and back up into the air.
Emily stays for some time, walking her own trails through the brush. She takes in the sweet smell of nature and bathes in the afternoon sun. She tastes some of the sweet blueberries that I guide her to with the animals. Animals approach her and scurry between her legs, happy to have someone that respects them.
Eventually, she says she must leave, though she promises to return with more help to rebuild some of the forest that was destroyed centuries ago.
***
In the weeks without Emily, the land becomes lonely and quiet. The animals have no one to talk to, the trees have no one to whisper about. Even the waters—rivers, lakes, waterfalls—seem to be too docile. We miss her, and, deep down, we all can feel how she misses us just the same. Time seems to freeze in the time without her.
Emily finally returns, and she does not return alone. At first, all I can feel is her warmth and joy, but soon, that feeling is drowned out by a wave of new arrivals. They do not give me bad feelings, but not good ones either; they have yet to pass my test to see if they will win over my support.
I fly over to the group of people in the form of a hummingbird. I see Emily, who instructs the caravan of people to put a beech here, a red and a white oak over there. Then she walks over to a tree and places her soft hand on its bark, and, yet again, I feel her love. I feel the way it courses through all of me, bringing new life and exuberance. Through her touch, I realize something: I am loved. I can keep going, for I am everywhere. I am eternal. I am alive.
Sources
https://gsmit.org/wp-content/uploads/2017/08/forests-of-the-smokies.pdf
https://www.pigeonforge.com/great-smoky-mountains-national-park/wildlife/
https://www.inaturalist.org/places/appalachian-trail-corridor#taxon=3
https://www.britannica.com/place/Appalachian-Mountains/Plant-and-animal-life
“The Creation of Turtle Island” – Pilot page
A variety of Google images for reference.
I am found everywhere. I have been here for a long time and have had time to grow just like anyone else. The forest is my body, large and full of life. The trees are my limbs, with bark acting as skin to protect my sensitive insides that tell a long history. The large expanse of hickories and oaks reach to the sky, begging the clouds to quench their thirst. The rivers provide what nutrients they can, acting as my veins that spread my life force across the terrain, my body. And the wide range of species—black bears, white tailed deer, salamanders, elk—provide evidence of my beating heart, evidence that I am here and active at all times.
I can feel a sense of warmth and comfort that I have not felt in many years. Someone has arrived at my borders. They trace the pebbles that line my entrances. I can feel their intake of breath, as they adjust to my fresh aroma. They are happy, almost excited to see me, a feeling that still hits the same way it did so long ago.
Back then, the people of my lands would worship me. They would tell tales—legends—about my creation, where I came from, how I came to be so beautiful and alluring. Tales of a “Turtle Island” graced my leaves, making me feel, for the first time, how loved I was by someone. I was important to someone; multiple someones who actually thanked me for what I provided to them. And, in turn, they provided me with the love and affection that was so necessary to my development, painful as it may have been. We supported each other as best we could.
Over the centuries, I noticed how people forgot about what I provided for them. Over time, they forgot how my body provides the air they breathe, how my blood is the very substance that keeps them strong and healthy. Years passed, and the people that had worshipped me so heavily quickly vanished from my sight and out of my borders. New people began arriving, bringing with them diseases and technologies that I was not yet aware of. While diseases drowned out the voices of my followers, the technology changed my shape and size, dwindling me just the same. I began to lose hope in humanity, as no one chose to visit me and gaze upon my vast beauty.
Now, a new someone has arrived. I can feel the steady heartbeat that carries through the air and graces my “skin.” I watch her through the eyes of a chipmunk that rests in the bushes around her feet. She wears a pair of neat hiking boots, long pants that cover as much skin as possible. She has a bag strapped to her back, which looks lumpy and full. I look up to see her carrying something, though cannot quite make it out through the chipmunk’s eyes.
I fly around through the eyes of a blue jay that lands in a tree just above her. We look down at the girl. She carries a baby; my baby; my sapling. The sapling is small, as they usually are, though I have not seen one in so long. Its tiny branches are so small and meek, and they sway in the soft breeze coming from the east. Its leaves are large, almost too large for its small limbs. I feel a sense of yearning for the small life in the girl’s hands.
The girl walks forward, and I follow in the form of my blue jay. She sets the sapling down in the dirt and pulls her bag from behind her. Quietly, she unzips the bag and removes a small shovel. She plunges it into my soft, painless dirt, making space for the new arrival. As she digs, she begins humming a soft melody, and I follow her figure back into the form of the chipmunk. We gaze at her crooked-smiling face as she picks up the sapling and places it into the dirt, granting a new life into my care.
The girl stands up and gazes at my world around her. “Here ya go,” she says. “I hope you enjoy the gift.”
I, and all the animals around her, gaze in admiration at the random act of kindness, hoping that someone as kind as her will return some day.
***
The sapling continues to grow and flourish over the coming weeks. I feel life spread through me as it begins stretching its legs—its roots—into the soil, marking its own territory. It is a simple being, not asking for much more than sunlight and water from the coming storm that is hinted at through the dark clouds. Continuously, I wait for someone as nice as the girl, or even the girl herself, to return. No one complies.
I can feel a storm dancing its way towards us. The winds carry its thunderous song ever closer minute by minute. Animals begin finding their places to hide, also feeling the chill in the air. The trees sway in the strong breeze, and leaves begin their fall to the ground as winds reach their pinnacle. The symphony of raindrops begins falling to the ground, hitting leaves, moistening my skin, and feeding my people. The water accumulates into puddles here and there, refreshing the soil for another day. The winds, using all their strength, pluck the weakest limbs from my trees. They fall to the ground, disgraced by the strength of their brothers who were able to resist the wind’s attack.
The storm comes so quickly, and leaves just the same. To replace the chill, a familiar sense of warmth and comfort graces my body. I jump between the eyes of the deer, the bear, and the elk, finally finding the girl I was looking for. She enters my borders and, again, is soft and gentle.
She slowly walks over to one of my trees and places her small, soft hand on my skin. The post-storm winds blow her light-brown hair in circles around her head, and the sun pops out between the open spaces in branches to shine upon her kind face. She begins laughing, then speaks again: “I’ve missed you, too. Sorry I wasn’t here sooner; the storm blew me away.”
The wind prevails again, yet not from the storm. It sparks the girl to spin in circles, laughing heartily at the way we communicate with her. Her kindness is a strong force. It pumps through her veins just as strong as the waterfalls that spread my own love.
I can sense the presence of my people, the animals, who also want to connect to their apparent savior. I jump into the body of a deer and stroll through the shrubbery towards the girl. When I breach the small opening in the forest, the girl pauses. Her brown eyes stay wide open, almost afraid to blink for the fear that she could miss even the smallest, most important moment.
I slowly move towards the girl, the deer’s legs wobbly thinking about the small chance that this could be a mistake. As I approach, the girl stands her ground, and reaches out a small hand. I come closer and closer, just enough to sniff her thin fingers, then I lower my head just slightly as a way to put her respect to the test. She slowly rests her hand on the top of my head, feeling the soft fur that covers my brown skin.
A surge of positivity and joy flows from her hand into my consciousness; she has passed the test. I feel her excitement, her slight panic, the way her mind is racing with so many thoughts that she can’t get out. Finally, the girl opens her mouth and utters one word, “Emily.” Her face beams with another smile when the birds begin chirping louder around us. Leaves rustle from the wind that blows again, looping through the curls of her hair, down her legs, and back up into the air.
Emily stays for some time, walking her own trails through the brush. She takes in the sweet smell of nature and bathes in the afternoon sun. She tastes some of the sweet blueberries that I guide her to with the animals. Animals approach her and scurry between her legs, happy to have someone that respects them.
Eventually, she says she must leave, though she promises to return with more help to rebuild some of the forest that was destroyed centuries ago.
***
In the weeks without Emily, the land becomes lonely and quiet. The animals have no one to talk to, the trees have no one to whisper about. Even the waters—rivers, lakes, waterfalls—seem to be too docile. We miss her, and, deep down, we all can feel how she misses us just the same. Time seems to freeze in the time without her.
Emily finally returns, and she does not return alone. At first, all I can feel is her warmth and joy, but soon, that feeling is drowned out by a wave of new arrivals. They do not give me bad feelings, but not good ones either; they have yet to pass my test to see if they will win over my support.
I fly over to the group of people in the form of a hummingbird. I see Emily, who instructs the caravan of people to put a beech here, a red and a white oak over there. Then she walks over to a tree and places her soft hand on its bark, and, yet again, I feel her love. I feel the way it courses through all of me, bringing new life and exuberance. Through her touch, I realize something: I am loved. I can keep going, for I am everywhere. I am eternal. I am alive.
Sources
https://gsmit.org/wp-content/uploads/2017/08/forests-of-the-smokies.pdf
https://www.pigeonforge.com/great-smoky-mountains-national-park/wildlife/
https://www.inaturalist.org/places/appalachian-trail-corridor#taxon=3
https://www.britannica.com/place/Appalachian-Mountains/Plant-and-animal-life
“The Creation of Turtle Island” – Pilot page
A variety of Google images for reference.
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