in the woods

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In Between Dauri and Forest Camp, Himalaya

Because they listen, and they were eager to listen to your stories, you can feel the genuine and loving acceptance of who ever we truly are. So i told them my story, how i got here, i told them that some years back i used to want to write a story about a baby chicken which wanted to be able to fly as high as the eagles. She felt so little, every time she looked at the sky and the eagles flew so high with their mighty wings. She wanted to be up there, she dreamed of how everything will look down here. She made little leap each day, despite the warnings of other chickens, how dangerous and stupid it was.

But of course, i never really finished the story, it was written without end on one of my journals that scattered somewhere, abandoned. But the trees reminded me of it. The trees asked me who i am, where i come from, what makes me happy. They kept me walking within my own pace, no rushing, and just BE. I stopped to admire them and listen to my own heartbeats once and awhile. Streaming of thoughts flowing like a river inside my head, i didnt try to justify them, the trees wanted to listen.

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