Little People

At one point during my walk in the woods last night, I stopped on the path, and listened.  All around me I could hear the scurrying sounds of the little people – the mice, shrews and voles.  I relaxed and let my roots grow, and my little brothers and sisters continued in their travels and paid me no attention.  I never managed to see them, and was forced to believe that the leaves danced all on their own.

After I had been there for some time, it occurred to me of how many writers, on meeting a bear, elk or moose felt that they (the people) were the intruders in that place.  Standing in silence with my little brothers and sisters, I knew of a better way.  There were no intruders; we all belonged.

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Mike Pedde