Cabin Fever

I was raised by beings that walked with the earth… not on it. It was the nurturing whispers of the tree’s branches that told stories from the river’s bed. The stars nightly alignments were my television, watching each appear as characters in a show. The crickets… my constant companions — never wavering, leaving only after morning’s dew would take its first drop. I was raised by hands stained with the history of the land and its daily tidings — callused with winter’s frigid edge — heavy laden with the creases of summer’s relentless heat. I chose to live with nature… living with every turn and twist of her season’s change. I fell asleep to the scent of redwood and pine, as the fire hissed and hummed its nightly musings. Knotted wooden boards lay above my head, as I connected their imperfect shapes through imaginative designs. My eyes were born star crossed lovers with mountains high and low… near and far… dancing in their light and resting in their shadow. I was raised in the mountains, and to the mountains I will always return.