I look behind, I see myself, a boy of fifteen, on a forest rise, just to sit, not thinking, there, just to be there, all alone, in silence, yet connected to the life around him, and within, soft, at peace, at home, in his homewoods. I see a boy grow up, as woodland streams, and young dreams flow together, between hills and wills, curving, swerving, shaping. He follows a dream that leads away, far, far away from home to where the wildebeest and buffalo roam, as leaves turn green, leaves turn brown and fall to the ground, and the world turns round and round. Miles and smiles and years go by, and fear that brought tears, while this stand of trees has stood, ever changing, yet remaining in this place til one day I return and see a boy who has grown til he has gotten to be sixty. And as I return to these homewoods they seem to ask, how did it go out there? Did your dream survive? Is it still alive? Did you end the hunger of children far from here?

And then simply they say, we are still here, here is where we stay, while you are away.


Glenn Thomas Fell

June 25, 2015

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