Monday, May 6, 2013

The Call of the Wild... My Way.


I was asked recently if there was any place more of my writing could be found. I pointed that person to my blog...but then realized that the amount of writing I have on this blog is kind of...*cough* lacking. 

I wrote this awhile ago, and because I liked it, I decided to tweak it a little bit. I'm not sure about the name though. I had it titled, Where the Stories Are, but it also reminds me of a twist on The Call of the Wild, or maybe something like, Nature's voice. What should I call it? You decide. 

***

This is where the stories are, I thought to myself as the sound of my shoes crushing the gravel and the love songs of birds filled my ears, a joyous melody. There were stories here. There were words, fantasies, and plots all intertwined throughout this land, yet no one ever stopped to notice them.
I looked up to feel the stories in the sunshine, and they warmed my face with glorious rays of light. The sun held something out to me, to everyone who stopped just once to notice its beauty and splendor. It held words, exquisite words and notes of music yet to be discovered. Why did it envelop me with its light and warmth? It was urging me to reach out and catch one of those stories or notes of music.




The wind held something out to me too. Playfully it tossed my chestnut colored hair back and forth across my face persuading me to run with it, to be free. I twirled in the whistling magnificence, obeying its call. My curls streamed behind me, and my skirts blew around my ankles. Then, all of the sudden, without a second thought, the wind softened, gently caressing my face with its tender breaths. It wanted to teach me something too. The wind had something to show me. Like the sun, there were words and stories hidden inside it, and if I could dig deep enough, I would find them and pull out the little treasures glittering sapphires. If I searched the inner soul of the wind, I could find things.
I closed my eyes as images of people from different countries with skin the color of a copper penny, and hair as dark as a moonlit sky painted themselves across my mind. The wind was with them, too, blowing the silk gowns of joyous little children as they ran barefoot across sand-covered plains toying with the coarse tails of young Arabian elephants. The wind was with them like it was with me.  
I opened my eyes to see the large oak tree standing as quietly as a June day and holding a beautiful kind of strength within its long, intertwining branches.  It was like a grandfather, old and gray, its bark chipping off in places. It had seen things that no human being alive had ever seen. Maybe wars, or a secret meeting between two young lovers in the ebony blackness of a restless night.
I turned again, crushing the gravel underneath my feet as I began to walk slowly, turning my back on the tree and its riddles. I studied the grounds in front of me, the prints of my shoes as they sunk into the rain-moistened soil, the golden fields of grass dancing to the tune of the wind, or maybe the pied piper, the horses galloping into the distant mountains, the clouds racing across the sky eager to reach a new strange and beautiful land even prettier than the last. They all held something, and when put together they created not only a sheer beautiful magnificence, but a story--a key to the past and to the future. A key to all of this world’s suspenseful, charming, romantic, joyous, and heart-wrenching tales not yet written.
A bird chirped in the distance. We’re waiting, it sang in joyful whisper. We’re waiting for someone with a soaring imagination to come unlock our secrets. Will you be the one? Will you give us a voice and knit our untold stories together?
Please, Stephanie.
Give us a voice.
       

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