For some reason, I spent a good year or two wanting to run away to live in the woods. Life was a little hard, I was reading a lot of fantasy novels about girls who could talk to animals or travel to different dimensions, and while I had none of those powers myself, I thought maybe I would have a shot at survival thanks to reading Hatchet.
Obviously, I never did it. I think I knew I’d be found in about ten minutes, or, worse, I’d be wet and hungry and tired after a single day in a Pacific Northwest forest and I’d have to come crawling home and admit defeat. I never admit defeat.
There was always some worry that my family would blame themselves for my desire to run away to the woods. Maybe they would miss me once I was gone, but I hoped they would realize it was what I had to do. “Of course Missy had to run off to the woods,” they’d say. “There is no other option for such a girl. Of course we’ll miss her, but she’ll be fine–she read a book about a kid who had to survive in the wilderness once.”
Anyway, here’s a drabble.
(n.) From Latin desiderata for “to desire”
An ardent longing for something, especially something that has been lost.
Somewhere inside of her, she knows that her family must miss her. But the rain feels delightful on her bare toes and there’s gardening to be done, so she pushes the thought away and digs her fingers into the soil, where earthworms wriggle.
She can’t sing but she does so anyway. The sound is harsh and jarring, a hawk’s cry rather than a dove’s croon. Her sister sings like an angel, but, this deep in the woods, she hears nothing but birds, wind, and the quiet, low sound of her own even breathing.
Someday, perhaps, they’ll find her out here.