No Frigid Days, Only Mild Days

Some forests never fear the fury of March bending a tree, their Redwoods and Giant Sequoias provide good shelter from winds and storms that occasionally begin at sea; in this woodland, the wood thrush and the blue warbler have made their home and they're happy to see a wanderer... when night descends all sounds are muffled by the loud cooing of owls with fluorescent eyes that scare the black and gray crows; they keep on watching the faint shadows similar to fog rising. In the depths of the densest forest stands a brown limestone hut, where the white-bearded keeper carries his Michigan ax to cut wood for the evening fire to keep hungry bears and wolves away; he searches for sweet blueberries and raspberries walking slowly, he finds some ripe papaws he'll roast with a tender yellow perch he caught in a small pound by the shade of a reddish-brown birch. I met pale-faced Tom two summers ago, we bumped into each other on a winding trail that led to an open meadow wilder and greener than the ones turned arid from intense sunlight with a straight line; he complained about his loneliness and the longing for sunshine. " Stop by anytime, I can share my adventures gladly, you can write them as the hunting images take me back to the days when I steered the helm of a ship with agile hands into the turbulent oceans testing my strength: I was called captain brave, not born in an age of such fragility and dearth. " And Tom went on with his long and exciting narrative, I listened... somehow embodying his intrepid spirit, " Look at your surroundings, Nature is so generous, it offers us wonderful gifts and teaches us grit; if we obey its laws, it won't turn against us, and under these shady trees that protect me as they always do: I expect no frigid days, only mild days. " Tom glanced at the cloudless sky of noon; it made him happy, not sad. "