Inspired by Nature

by Lori-Ann Willey 

Though it feels like I’m always writing in my head—formulating thoughts, brainstorming, and endlessly refining  -I have to admit, I’ve fallen behind when it comes to actually putting pen to paper or fingers to keyboard. The stories I create, especially those for children, often loosely stem from my own experiences, though they come in bits and pieces. Like any storyteller, I’ll add here, trim away there, or combine experiences together, all while influencing each of my characters. But it wasn’t until adulthood that I realized how many of those stories I’ve kept to myself, never written down, never shared.

When I think back, much of this started during the countless walks I took through the woods with my family, my sisters, or by myself.  Sometimes we walked with a purpose, sometimes just to wander just as I do today. I have my father to thank for my keen attention to detail. He taught me to be watchful, quizzing me on the things he thought maybe went unnoticed -the snap of a twig, the scatter of leaves, the faint trace of a deer’s path.  Sometimes, it was nothing more than a question, ‘What kind of tree did we pass 10 steps back?’ Mostly, we walked in silence -“Quiet as a mouse”. My mother walked with the same kind of quietness, though her occasional grunt of irritation when a stray branch slapped her face would break the stillness was something I’d come to expect, and almost waited for each time.  She’d always turn to remind us not to follow so closely unless we wanted limbs to slap us in the face, too.

Whether with my parents or my sisters, or simply enjoying a quiet walk through the woods alone were thoroughly enjoyed just as much then as now.  When alone, I walked slower, was more observant, and learned at a different pace.  If I had a question, there was no one to ask, so I tried to find the answers myself.  I pondered a lot just as I do now.  Thankfully, I had parents who gave me an education in nature, and the more I learned, the more I understood that it was nature itself that taught me the rest.

Even now, each time I step into the woods, I absorb it all as if it could be my last walk. I want to remember every detail -every track in the dirt, every branch that’s fallen, and the lifetime of every leaf bud grown to its death.  Like me, we each have a story.   I follow the steps of animals, notice the angle of the limbs, and look up to see what caused their fall. There’s a great sense of peace in these observations, and sometimes I catch myself smiling, heart warmed, much like the peacefulness of a sleeping child. My connection with nature is something I struggle to put into words -it runs deep, sometimes too deep to describe as if my heart selfishly holds it captive just for me.  I'm a bit sentimental that way.

Though I’ve taken a break from writing on paper or typing upon this keyboard, my mind never truly stops writing -all the stories I’ve “written” and memories I could tell.  Every walk, every detail is stored in such a way, waiting for the moment I sit down again and share with someone aside from myself. And when I do, those stored moments help me write with such crisp details that I can relive as I type.

Winter is near.  It's time to start writing again.