A New Place

                Spirits of the mountains dance in my head as I awake early, before sunrise. My first morning on a short trip to the Smokies.

                I feel the spirits arrive. A cold chill runs from head to toe. The feeling seems so real I can see their shadowy figures in my mind, even though they’re not visible. Ideas for writing flood my thoughts and I scribble down pages of notes before dawn lessens the spell.

    Why is a new place so inspiring at first? Ideas hit me the first morning and then normalcy settles in. Dullness takes over my fertile mind and brings back the mundane. I no longer see and feel what I know is there. I quickly settle into the first stages of a rut, which if given enough time may rival what I have at home.  The creative spirit must be nurtured, which is one reason I retreat to hidden paths and sounds of the woods.

   As I peruse my notes and decipher my attempts at legible handwriting I remember the moments, and the visions return, but only in memory. A good foundation for stories, and once it’s burned indelibly on paper it’s there forever. My getaway when life becomes overbearing.

The Loner

   Sunlight bathes the earth like no artificial light source can; mysteries of the night find no hiding place here. Shadows swallow up pending danger, but bring forth loneliness. Alone in my shrouded place can be invigorating, but also a burden. Not for me, I tell the world. Signed, The Loner.

   Still waiting for my red-tailed hawk to speak out to me and guide my spirit to higher places. I  keep listening, but nature doesn't draw my thoughts out like it does for some. A language barrier, perhaps. Until then I will walk quietly, absorbing every moment with a childlike tenacity, and letting my secret place close in around me until a new beginning arrives.