I used to watch for the maple flowers when I walked, or pedaled, to the UI campus in early spring. I spent many late nights at the arboretum, walking among the evergreens, listening to the songs from the many creatures of the night.

Now I hurry from project to project. I’m always playing catch up on the laundry list of work items, and yet many times feeling like I haven’t made real progress.

Where are the wild things?

Some part of my soul cries out to hear the sweet summer song of a whippoorwill, to smell the must of rotting leaves in early spring, to see the full moon silhouetting a thousand barren and cold oak, hickory and ash branches on a cold November night.

How did I get here? Living within a thousand artificial machinations, and it all feeling rather drab compared to a single forgotten forest ravine.