www.whyville.net Jan 16, 2011 Weekly Issue

Times Writer

The Secret Keeper

Users' Rating
Rate this article

There is a place in the woods where I like to go.

It's behind the house, far, far behind the house that sits on top of the green hill. The place is quiet and peaceful. Yet, there is a sense of danger from the old abandoned trailer. When you pass that trailer, opens the wide green pasture. You can see miles and miles of treetops glistening from the sun. If you close your eyes tight enough, you can hear the wind whispering to you as you run down, down the steep pasture.

In the fall, the leaves turn variegated shades of yellow, brown, red, green and sometimes, if you're lucky, you'll catch a pink one. But, the pasture still stays the same. Next to the old abandoned trailer, behind the house that sits on the hill top. You're able to get lost out there. You'll need a friend of course. A quiet friend. You'll have the same feeling. Silence. The silence is fine because the wind does the talking.

In the winter, the treetops turn white. The snowflakes fall on your nose and the wind whispers carols and cheers. You can disappear in the snow that once covers the green pasture, but that's okay. I wish to draw. I wish to be able to draw a scene and remember exactly how I felt. But instead, I write.

I leave my foot prints in the snow during the winter. I leave my footprints in the mud in the spring time. I leave my footprints in the leaves during fall and I leave my heart in soul there in the summer. The summer is the glorious time. The wind sings its loudest hymn during the summer. The frogs croak as the bashful deer nibble the apple tree up the dirt road.

The laughter and cry of the children echo through the deep woods. The fish squirm in the lake as the rocks skip the surface. You'll find me following the dirt road down to the house on the hill top, to the back, pass the old abandoned trailer to sit aside the wind on the green pasture.

How we all long for the touch of the crisp mountain air, the voice of the wolves howling through our bedroom windows. That smell of morning ringing through the house and the feeling of adventure beyond the front door. We'll leave that house on top of the hill top and look to seek it. When the day comes to end, we'll run back inside and spill our secrets to the house. To each other.

The world is full of beauty. Unexplainable beauty. The wind holds it's secrets and swears to never let a soul know. But on top of the pasture, it tells all. And when the air chills again and fall rolls around, the children scurry away from the pasture, for deep in the woods lie the secrets of beauty. The secrets of life. If only I were brave enough to dare in, I would discover the secrets of life.

Listening to the wind
~ Watermel8


Did you like this article?
1 Star = Bleh.5 Stars = Props!
Rate it!
Ymail this article to a friend.
Discuss this article in the Forums.

  Back to front page