Away for too long

I have to say that I miss it outside. Oh sure, you could say that I go outside all the time, if you count each time I scamper from the car to the door of an office or a shopping mall. But that would be like counting mold in your refrigerator as a houseplant.

I miss the sky overhead, from horizon to horizon, the wind on my face and the sound of a lake lapping in the summer or booming in the winter. I miss the jiggle of a peat bog under my feet, the smell of dead leaves and the aroma of pine needles. I miss walking through the woods and witnessing the living tapestry of fugi, lichen and moss. I miss the companionship of chickadees, singing in my ear and hopping from branch to branch as I make my way along the trail. I miss the raucous chattering of red squirrels, the hooting of owls and the chortling of loons. I miss the playful antics of chipmunks and the elusive tactics of the whitetail deer.

I've loved the forests and lakes since I was old enough to walk or swim in them. Even when I was young and the woods were a place full of witches, wolves and monsters I loved them, because they were also a place full of Fairies, leprechauns and dancing gingerbread men. As a youngster lakes filled me with a sense of trepidation as I imagined scaled beasts, swimming through the very waters I swam in. In my adolescence lakes filled me with a sense of thrill at the notion of scaled beasts, swimming through the very waters I dangled my hook in.

I remember the sense of loss I felt each time a weekend or vacation concluded, and how that feeling turned to longing as I waited for the next adventure to begin. Somehow the longer that you stay away from something the more that sense of longing diminishes, until one day you discover that you haven't really been outside in months.