Follow Me

When my boots crunched around to the back of the house, you followed me. Leaves were squished beneath us as we walked to where the silence was hiding. Even though the wind held its breath, the wintry air nipped at our cheeks without remorse. The trees good-naturedly made room for us amongst the mess of wood and leaf, but the cool air surrounded us and pushed its chilly breath down our lungs.

Words were bothersome, but every twig snapped beneath my shoes was a friendly disturbance welcoming us to the realm of the woods. The damp, fluffy green rocks would occasionally gleefully protrude from underneath the carpet of foliage as if mischievously hoping to trip us. The quiet was of the delicate kind- not the uncomfortable smothering silence that creeps up on people and tightly pinches their lips.

My hands were slowly turning a dark pink, and so I stuck them inside my coat pockets and set them to defrost. I began to be on the lookout for a reasonably dry log nearby to rest on and motioned you to do the same. Soon, you hailed me from a close distance and patted a semi-rotten one that you were sitting on. I sat down next to you and we sat comfortably for ten minutes, surveying our beautiful surroundings.

Abruptly, a figure crashed between two trees, pushing aside the plant life with a stick. He called to us, “Come back, this is private property! We’re not allowed to be here.” Glumly, I stretched, stood, and waited for you to do the same. We walked back in the other kind of silence, sharing the same thought. How can someone own somewhere so beautiful?