Last weekend my husband and I found ourselves watching a PBS special about the life and music of John Denver.
I haven't thought about him in a long, long time. I suppose in these cynical days, people will laugh at me for writing this. I miss the simple innocence of childhood, and his poetry of wild places.
"Life is old there, older than the trees"
When I was little, John Denver was my 'nature bard:' his songs, a soundtrack for my wanderings in the overgrown fields, forests and rocky creeks of Southern Indiana.
Even as a small child, I connected with the words to 'Country Roads.' The lyrics resonated with me, and conjured up pictures in my mind. "Dark and dusty, painted on the sky:" I could see that. In those days there were no Sony Walkmen, iPods or CD players, so I'd sing to myself as I swayed in the wind, high above our house in the branches of a towering sycamore.
I loved the woods. I spent hours - entire days wandering the nearby fields and forests alone, rather than playing with other kids in my neighborhood. Something in those trees, in the forest fed my soul. I was less alone among the branches, birds and wild things than I ever was with people.
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