Solitude

I wanted solitude, I guess, when I turned my back on capitalism and walked alone into a redwood forest.
The trees were constantly whispering though, telling me over and over about how happy they were to make shade while I rested, how they’d dropped dead limbs to the ground to use for my campfire.
The water in the rivers always seemed to battle the wind. Sometimes they would take turns being the loudest thing in the forest. They would mimic each other too. The wind was always tricking me into thinking that a stream was just over the next hill.
The animals made all sorts of noise. Bears don’t roar. They push brush around. That is the sound I know them by. Birds sing songs. Some of them sound like the emergency whistles a lost hiker would use. Fish make two splashes when they jump. It reminds me of a rock that skips once before falling into the water.
The nighttime speaks in whispers like the trees do. When the star light hitting my eyes mixed with the flicker from my fire, I could faintly hear the chatter of lost people. They spoke as if I wasn’t there, sharing stories about the trees, the animals, the rivers, and the stars. They laughed at my search for solitude, and told the wind to stop playing tricks on me.

— leest1 —

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About Lee Stone -leest1-

The world is changing: Stand for Something. Soporte Para Algo. Independent Poet/Artist. Portland, OR · http://facebook.com/sonstone
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