The Unspoken

 By Holly L. Trowbridge

Stop, and listen.  It will be hard to hear, because there are no words.  Just take a moment…

There is a Voice that whispers to you when you walk in a forest and gaze at the greens, the browns--the patches of light spotting the ground that narrowly escaped being confined behind the branches of the looming, towering trees. 

The Cry that calls out from the infinite sapphire of the ocean, mingled with the salty scent of the breeze, the warmth of the shell-strewn sand, the sudden flapping of seagulls’ wings.

The Song that is heard singing through the snow-capped mountains, echoing over boulders, cliffs, and frozen lakes.

The Prayer that hums in the desert, where hardy and delicate things are in perfect balance, the sky always blue and the sun ever hot.

Did you hear it? What did it say?

I've lived in southern California all my life--sixteen years.  I've learned to love it, love the desert, but I know it's a give and take.  With our year-round sunshine I understand all too well the meaning of 110 degrees fahrenheit or more in the summer (and often the spring and fall), and I morn the lack of grass (not counting the golf courses, but at least I get to see the stuff!).  I've also experienced the desert's dangerous side; earthquakes are prolific and my family almost lost our house to a wildfire a couple years ago.  But I can't leave, it's in me now, and I know I would feel incomplete without my huge sky, sandy and mountainous landscape, and coyote howls at night. 

I've been homeschooled since the fourth grade and will be a senior in the fall.  College is definitely in the future with possibly a career in nursing.  I enjoy spending my time going to church and youth group, playing tennis, and riding horses on the multitude of trails our desert landscape provides.

Holly

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