I couldn’t wait for summer. It had been a while since I felt the soft Earth against my feet. I liked at the end of the year, riding the bus home with the windows down and the warm wind blowing our hair around, my friends and I would talk loud, sometimes so loud that the bus driver would come over the microphone and tell us to Settle down back there in her nasally, first warning tone. But we’d talk over the wind, while it tried to over power our words with its. I imagine it tries to tell us something, but we don’t care to listen because we are preoccupied with one another.
I like riding my bike. After the fear of being abducted is out of my head, I go into a state of peace. I knew that it had been a while since I’ve ridden and my legs would burn as I tried to ride around the four mile block. The sun blessing me with its rays, but too much can be dangerous. The wind blowing through the hairs on my head, face, arms and legs. It was so serene that I could close my eyes for one moment and imagine the sky reaching down, ready to take me away. And looking up at the beautiful blue dome and white clouds can be almost unbearable it makes you cry.
I’d ride to the cemetery that was a mile, give or take, from my house, on the side of a busy road. I couldn’t go to the woods anymore that were half a mile behind my house. I’d use the field to adventure there even though there was a path only a couple hundred feet down the road. My worry of getting caught was the only thing keeping from that place; not even the NO TRESPASSING signs posted on trees at the border where the field fades into overgrown grass, then trees would stop me. Those woods held secrets of superiority. They had power to tie old car parts down to the ground. For the mud to soften when it rained and begin taking in the foreign objects that sat on their grounds. The rain ate away at the old cars, probably from the forties. An animal is most loyal to nature.
Most of the headstones there were from the 1800s, from the civil war, or children that lived a short life. There, the wind whispered to me, but I didn’t listen close enough. I was keeping an ear out for the ghosts of the long passed people. Never once have I seen someone visit them so I took it upon myself to keep them company. I’d comfort them, talk to them, order them to talk back. I thought maybe we could share each other’s pain at times. What about nature’s pain? When the wind went from a shout to a whisper because we were alone. On my ride there I listened, but it had more stories for me. What an odd place for a cemetery.
Sometimes I think I’m a foreign object, in the hope that one day nature will over power me and she would take me in a natural way to her sacred place underground. A human’s punishment for destruction of the Earth is death. When buried naturally, you give back to the Earth as an apology, hoping she’ll accept your body as a favor for your bad doings while you are still alive. It’s hard for her to accept things with a barrier, a casket blocks you from giving back. Maybe she tries to reach out to you, but something is in the way. The ground’s minerals are ready to help you during your escape.
In the Winter, the frozen ground preserves you, freezing your every liquid until it crystallizes, breaking every cell in your body, so when summer comes to thaw you out, you are soft like a thawed strawberry that had been in the freezer. You must be taken fast before you spoil. Your metal container keeps you locked up so you have nothing to do but sit in your own waste. Perhaps, even on Earth, we are already spoiled.
The wind is the messenger of Nature. We tend to get distracted. When I wrote this I listened to music, I let it play. I look back at the songs that played and realized I missed some of the best songs. I was preoccupied. Take time out of the day to occupy yourself with nature and listen to her messenger tell you life’s secrets.
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