My father was a veteran of World War II; an anti-tank weaponeer responsible for dismantling the tread of the Panzer fleet. under direct fire, he’d dash through the brambles placing by hand the first of many detonations.

from Normandy to the Battle of the Bulge, he fought valiantly alongside many of his childhood friends – many of whom died defending the rights and freedoms of those they’d never know. They were the voice of the voiceless, tireless in their pursuit of eqaniminty and justice.

He returned home a broken man, his natural heart rhythm displaced by a continual panic and dread. Hypervigilance, I believe that’s the term – more simply stated, he was terrified of the sounds of this world.

When I was just three years old, we moved from the city into a house in the woods. Surrounded by the dense cover of night and brush, he found his solace there – with every ‘extra’ moment he put back into that land.

Sometimes when we are broken we retreat into the comfort of what is known, the familiar. Inwardly, our

It strikes me how much of our environment influences our well-being, speaking in subtleties where logic may fail. We struggle within the torrent of unresolved emotion, thrashing for the assurance of stable ground. And yet, even facing our greatest challenge – the sounds of nature surround, infusing their gentle tones…beckoning us home where we belong.

Where we belong… amongst the flowers, the trees…where life begins and ends…and begins again.

In peace, my sweet friends…

Namaste ❣