Old Mother West Wind, Laughing Brook, and the Stories that Inspired Generations
Murph and I had ducked into the woods in Phippsburg around 9:30 a.m., hoping to escape the July heat. No spring chickens, we ambled more than we hiked and only covered a few miles before taking an early lunch break on a mossy slab of granite overlooking a still, shallow pond. Suddenly a handsome blue jay flashed past, screeching madly about our trespass.
“Thief!” I said, trying to imitate the jay. “Thief! Thief!”
Murph looked at me quizzically. I just shrugged – it was a nostalgic reference to some children’s books I had read 50 years ago – books that had introduced me to the mystery and magic of New England’s woodlands, encouraging me to get out of the house and into the pines surrounding it. Books, in truth, that instilled an ardent desire to become a writer myself.
Published in Northern Woodlands on September 21, 2021
