The forests of the Pacific Northwest are calling.
I long for a change of seasons, the rush of cascading waters, the musty, ancient scents eminating from the cavern, the twists and turns in the road as it meandors round the mountain. I want to hear the call of the wolf, see the sprint of the deer, embrace the nobility of the elk, feel the warmth of the soft wooly coat of the sheep as he stands, unshorn and unmolested in the meadow.
I want to know that She lives in the splash of the ocean as it batters the monolith, that She is found in the last surviving ice crystal melting gracefully among the trees, that Her laughter is heard in the roar of the sea lions basking on the rocks. I want to feel Her arms wrap around me as I stand among the evergreens, sheltered and fearless. I want to taste the native berries, drink the homebrewed wine, and meditate among old growth redwoods. The power of unspoiled earth beckons.
Above the clouds, I long to reach out and touch Her hand, feel her warmth comforting me against the brutal chill of the season. Below the ground, I want to watch Her progress from a tiny seedling to a majestic spruce, reaching upward and outward toward Her children.
In the depths of the wilderness, I long to hear the chirping of the crickets, see the pawprints of the great bear, witness a discarded feather soaring through the breeze and know, just know that She sits beside me, holding me close to Her bosom, safe and protected in perfect love.