A mysterious figure walked a wild forest path ahead of me; she had for as long as I could remember. Sedate patience was in her step, quiet, so quiet upon soft dirt. She did not forge her way forward so much as request safe passage; before her feet, the foliage shifted aside to let her through. As she passed fragile plants and skittish creatures, she disturbed neither. When she found things that did not belong—garbage, traps, pollution—her delicate touch righted the wrong and restored life to the earth. She whispered kind words to flowers and whistled to the twittering birds above.
I walked the path she had already created, admiring her handiwork in her wake. How brave she was to traverse this deep wilderness alone. Sometimes darkness loomed in the shadows all around us, but as I groped along in the night, the green light of a lantern bobbing ahead kept my feet from straying into danger. At times, she became so distant that I could no longer see her. But when I began to endanger the forest around with my clumsy ways, I recalled her serenity. She may not have known I was back there, following her footsteps, but she was my reminder: to be gentle and brave, just like her.
S. G. Baker's Blog 