What we once had, we still have. |
I grew up on the mountain-- running barefoot through the forest, hopping stones across the stream, splashing in the lake before swimming like the fish, flying like the birds from tree to tree. No other kids for miles, so the geese became my friends. We'd hold long conversations during sunrise when they came to my call and we ate breakfast together. I'd swim with their little ones. I ran trails with the deer-- they had no fear of me and would eat from my hand. They taught me how to run fleet through the brush. My mountain was both friend and teacher. Summers, I'd camp out under a canopy of stars not dimmed by city lights. I would drink my fill from the Milky Way and never thirst. I listened to their music, and sang their ancient songs. During high school, my parents moved to town, where the skies dimmed and the moon was lost in haze. The roads were walled in with sidewalks. I could look out my bedroom window and watch the neighbors watch me. The last night on the mountain we had a bonfire. I watched the sparks circle high and wanted to fly away even as I had when the geese flew south. I felt as though I was being put in a cage, penned in by new rules and expectations. The next day, I went out by the burn pit. The logs had burned to grey, cracked bones that disintegrated with a touch. Climbed my maple tree for the last time. My world was already feeling different as if I were a stranger there. I didn't fit in that new world and I didn't know how to say goodbye. The world seasoned differently in town. Clocks replaced the sun, no one believed one could run with the deer. The magic was fading, disintegrating every bit as much as the logs from our final fire. Still caught between two worlds, I was drowning in a world without water. Then my grandmother came to visit. She told me I hadn't left my mountain behind. Child, the mountain streams run through your veins, your eyes will remember the patterns of the stars, and you will never forget the lessons your mountain taught you. You don't need to be there to remember. Half a century later and far from my mountain home, I still carry her essence. But I've learned the bones of my youth can't be charred to ash. Lessons learned are forever intrinsic. At a campfire, watching hazy smoke rise to the stars, I still hear their song. |