Reflections
                          by JonaWolf


Copyright 2006 to the present to the author. All rights reserved.


The images come to me unbidden; stark flashes of places and times hidden deep within the folds
of memory, places long forgotten. The trigger for these old memories is often such a simple,
miniscule thing that I'm left breathless when my thoughts are whisked into the past and times
forgotten spring into mind with a clarity that belies the years that have passed. A shadow of a
scent, a sound more sensed than heard. These are the bringers of nostalgia, and just as often, a
smile to my face.

When I left for work early this morning I was enveloped by the cool and still October air as soon
as I stepped out the door. Frost glistened on frozen grass and a few stray leaves burnt autumn
gold drifted slowly down from the apple tree in my backyard. I could smell snow on the breeze
and as I looked up to the cloudy sky my thoughts took a sudden turn and the memories began to
flow. I soon found myself in a different place, a place both far away in miles and in years.

...Walking through the predawn gloom of a crisp October morning, the frozen grass and leaves
crunching quietly beneath my boots. Trees loom out of the darkness, an indistinct forest of
aspens and poplars that is as still and quiet as the autumn air itself. Stars glitter overhead, and I
turn my eyes up to the patchwork canopy of branches thrown as shadows against the endless
depths of the heavens. My breath hovers in the frosty air for a brief moment and I strain my ears
into the silence that lies like a thick blanket over the forest. I breathe deeply, taking in the earthy
scent of the leaves and the grasses, the spicy, resinous scent of the trees, and a smile grows on
my face...

...The forest thins out, and I find myself standing at the edge of a field, rows of golden stubble
stretching out before me. I sit down among the scattered trees and tall golden grasses to wait.
The huge expanse of blue-black sky overhead slowly grows yellow and orange at the horizon as
the morning approaches. As the light grows, the forest comes alive. Mice and shrews rustle
about beneath the blanket of frozen leaves, squeaking quietly to themselves. A more deliberate
crunching of leaves makes me turn my head slowly and search for the culprit. A ruffed grouse,
grey feathers nearly invisible against the background of closely knit tree trunks, pokes slowly
about in search of breakfast...

...The slowly growing light brings the breath of colour to a land of grey. The sun is almost up
now, and the light reveals a forest decked out in all of its autumn glory, red, gold, yellow, even
the occasional patch of green. The mosaic stretches out on the rolling hills as far as the eye can
see. When the first rays of morning sunlight gently touch the very tops of the surrounding hills,
the forest erupts into a spectacular blaze of colour against a sky so blue that it has to be seen to
be believed...

...I hear honking in the distance, rolling in and out at the edge of my hearing, a multitude of
voices, blending in and out with other in discordant harmony. Black specks appear in the blue
sky and slowly resolve themselves into a flock of Canada Geese. They fly directly over me,
stretched out in a broad ‘V' formation, honking enthusiastically as they take south with them the
last days of summer. I hear the ‘whoosh' of their wings overhead, and hear their cries slowly
fade out of hearing as they follow a path that leads them ever southward...

...I am so relaxed out here, far from the reaches of civilization. I breathe in deeply of the cool air
and a smile grows on my face. The accumulated worries and stress created from trying to
co-exist with modern society drain away and the tumultuous depths of the city are forgotten. I
feel incredibly alive out here among the trees and the hills, more alive than I thought possible. I
am a part of this great landscape, I feel it in my bones that this is where I belong. I am a
wanderer, an outsider, a man with the soul of a wolf. I understand that now. That is why the
quiet beauty of wild places tugs at my soul, and why I have felt that I have never belonged among
the tangled depths of civilization...

...Looking over my shoulder, I see that I have left the safe, paved road of life and entered the
tangled underbrush alongside the trail. I must make my own path, I see that now. Where it will
take me I do not know, but I will follow it faithfully, always wondering what lies over the next
hill...