Fickle Friends

Response to Prompt #48, Listening to Nature.

Nature, I am trying to listen.

All I'm hearing is noise.

I would blame myself for projecting my negative feelings upon Nature, because blaming myself comes so naturally to me. It's not you; it's me, I whisper, head down in defeat. But, then I remember how fickle she can be. Maybe it's both of us.

All I know is the last two times I sought solace in her arms, I have been disappointed. That just makes me more agitated and leads to all sorts of questions.

What is wrong with me that I can't hear music in the sounds surrounding me?

Am I causing the discord, my actual presence upsetting the balance and peace? (a thought that is both paranoid and narcissistic--as if I am that important or have this power)

Am I a hopeless case?

And then I remember the cool breeze brushing my face on a perfectly sunny day under an impossibly turquoise sky as I walked Semi, the stress of my workday being swept away.

I remember the dragonflies darting around me, the feeling of peace they imparted.

I remember the faint call of a songbird cutting through the caws of the crows and the drilling of the woodpecker on the metal fascia, offering me hope that beauty still exists.

I remember my childlike fascination over the odd trees and custom ink blooms at the botanical gardens.

I remember the butterflies chasing each other among the blossoms, free from the mesh enclosure, rebel escapees.

All reminders I am not lost. I'm just having a hard time making it out of the fog some days.

Nature is not rebelling against me, and I am not rebelling against her. We're just fickle friends these days. But, we still have our moments.

The sun.
The breeze.
The lone songbird.
The flowers.
The lily pads.
The butterflies.