Saturday, August 10, 2013

The Whispered Story

The wind called, enticing me to come out and play and listen and imagine.

I followed the call of the wind, stood entranced on the lawn, but it was not enough. The birch trees were laughing at some silly story that was beyond my hearing. In my desire to hear the story that was being shared between the birch and the wind, I climbed a trio of trees to be in their midst and to listen. So, with my back on one, feet on another, a hand resting lightly on a third, I sat and listened to their story. The story was told with a shivering and a rustling of leaves, a sway and a dance of the trunks that I could feel under my feet and hand, and the wet tang the wind brought with the scattering of wet drops from the skies. Occasionally, wind and trees would pause in their recitation to watch the wreck of a human vehicle drive by, or to allow silence to return after a particularly loud and throaty engine. They commented on the boys walking down the road with a slap, slap, slap of loosely shod feet, remarked on the hint of smoke from a nearby fire pit. They always returned to their humorous story, however, and were more than willing to allow me to listen in.

My friends, it was quite a good story. You should take the time to listen as well. I am sure the birch trees and wind would be happy for the quiet company.