As I listen to the sounds of running water I am transported to my bedroom, 37 years ago. The window is open and the river runs just outside. The crickets are singing, and the frogs are croaking. I see the light of the moon shine through the curtain.
The shock of quiet is great when city life is left behind. No people sounds, no neon lights, stars come out at night and the wonder of it is amazing. The city takes nature from the human and gives constant disruption.
Tar bubbles in the pavement on a hot day, poked and deflated with a little stick. Pitch bubbles in the bark of the trees, popped and watched as it flows out and down. Sticky spots on hands where dirt clings to the pitch spots, the aroma strong and pure. Sun glistening on the rivers waves, watched as the water flows through bend after bend, seen from the top of the highest tree.
Red ant hills alive with scurrying ants, working to tend their home. Black ants flying about before they land and drop their wings. Old coca cola bottle buried in the hard soil from long ago. Trail along rivers edge, grasses grown high on either side. Deer flies, Horse flies, mosquitoes.
Field of green grass, trees at the edge where deer and elk bed down for the night. Mushrooms and wild strawberries, three petaled flowers, fallen trees feeding them all. Birds flying through the branches, resting there too. Squirrels, coyotes, bear, and cougar. Fish spawning and resting in the banks of hidden rivers edges.
The wind blows though the hair, brushing the skin, filling the lungs. Deep breaths, a song is sung for the pleasure of my ears, and those I do not see. A prayer given to the forest, questions asked which are answered, in thought, in sensing.
Blessings, these memories are, for when I remember I am transported once again to this place, this quiet haven where so few travel.