Tuesday, August 23, 2011

And a River Runs Through It...

    I was watching this movie the other day, and became very sad desiring the days of when I was little on the farms I lived on and being out in the woods running around.  The trees seemed to go on forever. The streams and creeks I used to wade in with my dog. Because we lived away from people how idealic and sometimes lonely it was. How I would go out into the fields and lay on top of the big hay bales with my dog and gaze down at the creek below.  It was there I learned to fish and skip stones. My brother and I would hide in the woods in the back of our farmhouse, using a slingshot to stun rabbits and squirrels. Using pine needles to string together leaves to make curtains in an empty corn silo. We would rescue baby birds that had fallen out of their nests, climb trees as high as we could go and look out over the fields. I’d pick and eat wild chokecherries and boysenberries that grew on the fence near the cornfields.  Play hide and seek in the barn with my brother. Catching garter snakes in weed fields, watching fish in the creek, riding my bike down empty dirt roads, watching my dog chase the tons of cats we had, picking up stray and wild animals to bring home to my mother.  Collecting bugs and butterflies in jars, walking into dark fields of nightflies, coming home at dusk covered in dirt, mud and ticks. ~sigh~ Simpler times before what I knew what hurt was. Being out in the country I’ve always described as being like a religious experience, for you spend so much time being in touch with your soul.
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