By the ocean, you can hear it.
If you’re quiet enough. Humble enough. Tired enough.
You can hear it.
It’s not a siren’s call. It isn’t the sound of a mermaid. Not the kraken’s roar.
It’s not nearly as angry as all that.
Not nearly. Continue reading “Ocean Calling”
Looking out over the hills, the towering trees, the things that were falling prey to the heavy breeze, I knew he was right.
How many years had I vowed to never climb this mountain? Claiming that I would never dare try to scale these massive hills? Declaring that this life wasn’t for me?
Half of my childhood, I’d rejected the idea. Dismissed it completely. And, when I grew and finally knew I’d have to eventually leave those flat plains for this mountain, I’d rejected it completely. Claiming that those plains were fine, that that was all I needed to know. All I needed to have. All I could learn was at my fingertips, I thought. All I needed was already sitting in front of me. I didn’t need to leave, I convinced myself.
For years, I thought that it was true. That there was nothing out here that my hometown didn’t already have. Nothing to be gained away from those plains, nothing new or out of the ordinary to behold beyond its grasp.
But that was before. That was the old me.
The foolish me.
The arrogant me.
The ignorant me.
The me that rejected mountains and heights and soaring.
That was before I knew what it was like.
What it was like to climb. Continue reading “Mountains to Climb”
I was on a ship.
And it wasn’t mine.
I was on a ship, stuck in a pond, forced to watch the sun dip behind the ocean, all while stuck on this ship that wasn’t mine, in a pond that was unfamiliar to me, in a land that I only knew from a dream long ago.
I was stuck on this ship.
In this pond.
Watching the sun set over the horizon. Promising stars and guidance on the other side of the skyline. Out there, in the wild of the ocean, I could sail. Guided by thousands of burning lights.
I was stuck.
On this ship that wasn’t mine.
In this infinitesimally small pond.
Int his land that was completely foreign to me.
No, this ship, and this pond, and this land… it definitely wasn’t mine.
It was his. Continue reading “Breaking From The Pond”
Silently, I watched my father’s hound rush off. Bouncing through the grass to get the goose. Giddy. Proud to make his master happy.
“Why don’t you make yourself useful and collect the geese Holt?” my brother asked, not an ounce of venom in his tone. “You’d be faster than Finn.”
My dad hit him lightly. Smacking him gently with the butt of his rifle as the words floated and sank, digging into the earth.
“Don’t say things like that to your brother. He’s a werewolf, not a dog. It’s a legitimate condition,” Dad snarled.
My brother didn’t mean anything by it. Not at all. It was a suggestion made by a young mind. Someone who doesn’t quite understand.
I think about it all the time. Continue reading “Wolf Hound”
I’m not a people person. Everyone in this desolate wasteland of a town knows it. It’s glaringly obvious. Like an old oak standing alone in the desert. This town is small enough that they all know I’m gruff. Grumpy, even. A little surly. But, that’s only because I don’t interact with people much. I’m harmless really, but still.
Yeah, I’m not a people person.
But, who can blame me?
When this is the price to be paid for interacting with others…
If this is what comes attached with people…
Why would I be a people person? Continue reading “Devil’s Well”
I can feel the rush of it in the air. Pulling, away and then gently moving forward. Pressing. Drawing. Taking and giving. The sands on the shore bow to the whims of the ocean, and the sea’s breeze kicks the smell of the salt into the air. Stinging the back of my nose. Powering that feeling. Fueling what I already know:
I’m home. Continue reading “Beach Town”
I remember being on the mountain. Seeing the hills below. The way they rolled on, coated with trees. Grass peeking out beneath the trellises of tickling winds. The way everything seemed serene down there. Peaceful. Calm.
I remember being on the mountain with you standing next to me. Proud to show me the view below. You weren’t like the other one. That one was proud because he thought it was better up here. Thought the snow and wind and height gave him something. And, to an extent, he wasn’t wrong.
Unlike you, he didn’t understand what it was the mountain was giving him.
What it was that made this place so special. So glorious. He didn’t understand.
The mountain gave him nothing but a view.
The world, as it is. As it was.
And down there, watching the people move their flocks in the valley, it gave him the greatest gift of all.
A picture of what will be. Continue reading “This Valley”
The knock was gentle. Timid. Meant to be heard, but not to disturb.
I knew who it was, of course.
So, of course, I let him in. Continue reading “Share of Hearts”
The door was closed.
The fox had the key.
A thief of nature. An ancient burglar. Quick-witted, swift. A natural in the forest.
The fox had the key.
In a forest filled with candles. Brightly lit against the dusk, the falling sky. They glowed gently, shimmered. Lit the fox’s eyes so I knew exactly what he was thinking.
It wasn’t good.
Continue reading “Wax Forest, The Fox, and Me”