The Voice - Short Story

 The Voice by Michael Peterson 

A man tired from his day, wary of spirit and needing solace embarked into the wilderness. There he sat himself next to a creek. Around him the voice of the forest spoke. The chattering of chipmunks, the song of the birds. The ebb and flow of the wind rustling in the trees as the earth breathed. He sat for along while in silence and in awe. It was a place he had come to in the past. A sanctuary of primal energy, a wisdom beyond the ego of man. Each tiny thing therein a living universe. All interdependent of the next, a symphony of symbiosis. Here he felt connection. Here he felt understanding. Here he knew peace.

"Ah little forest, you have heard my confessions many times. Yet I wonder how many you've heard before me, and still yet how many you will hear after me? "

He closed his eyes. Fighting back his own little rivers. His thoughts turned to the natural order of things. Of the fish that swam in the waters next to him. Did they fight so hard to return to their spawning grounds because it was habit? Or did they do so in hopes of reclaiming something from their past? Or was it that primal wisdom that drove them? That in their hearts they divined some greater knowing and understanding? That their journey wasn't about them, but about those along the way. Those who would feed upon them. That their spirit passed into another. And that their life wasn't a sacrifice, but a service. That their purpose was to bring others what they needed?

"Or maybe they're just fish" he said out loud giggling to himself. A bird began chirping and it sounded like laughing as if nature was answering him. The sun began to shine through the treetops. He closed his eyes and drew it all in. Then a voice spoke to him in his thoughts, "the age of man is coming to an end. A new dawn comes." It trailed off. Visions of the forest growing thicker, and the animals becoming more populated. Of the little creek digging away at the bank, becoming deeper and further down in elevation. Of it becoming a river. The trees growing and dying, and re-growing. The sounds of the world changing from a modern roar to a harmonic song. Of names that had been given. Being forgotten. And new names bestowed. Of quadruped becoming bipedal. But this was not new knowledge. This was shared, yet forgotten knowledge. This was memory, and discovery. Past, present, future. A connection found in disconnection. An awakening or a momentary ah ha. The voice once again returned "a part of, not apart from. Though one age ends, another begins. Your form may not remain, but your spirit will."
He opened his eyes again. "Who are you voice, to proclaim such knowledge?" He demanded. A frog croaked. A bird sang. A squirrel chattered. A deer came out into a clearing. The wind gusted. Then all fell silent.  "Mother!"