The backdoor calls
Every night recently, I've stood leaning against a door frame, staring at my back yard, thinking of stepping out into the warm summer's night as the backdoor calls.
Every night recently, as I lay my head on my pillow, I hear a sweet song. It sings with the voices of the creaking trees in the soft breeze, it plays the soft melody of the hummingbirds' wings.
Every night recently, as I struggle to sleep, be it due to tears or excited tossing, I can see in my head the forest holding me as I walk into its gentle embrace.
Every night recently, I can see myself in my head, sometimes I see myself barefoot, in the clothes I've already adorned, some nights I see myself in a new attire, one with boots, a hat, and a pair of chaps, my body made of a soft mist that brings a comfort I've never felt before.
Every night recently, the trees call to me beckoning me with an adventure, the moths speak my name, my real name, one that my family will never know, the deer whisper hymns of the sweet escape that awaits.
Every night recently, I get closer to following their voices and escaping just for a little while to a place where only I know.
Every night recently, I can hear and see it all as I listen when the backdoor calls.
