Yesterday Duncan and I wound our way into the old-growth forest behind our house with two friends -- forest I adore, gift from Goddess. But only a few minutes into the woods, one friend said:
"These woods are scary. Did you see the Blair Witch Project?"
I said no. He said, "If you'd seen the Blair Witch Project, you'd be scared too."
Instantly the multicolored balloons hovering over my head -- a multilayered excitement over sharing these woods -- all burst at once, as if my friend had popped each one all in the same second.
And instead of moving deeper into Goddess, we turned around and trudged back home.
And then there's this: One of the last Stephen King books I poked into was The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon -- about a young Maine girl battling for her life against Nature, which King turns into a devil/demon stalking this pre-teen for all of 250 pages.
I'm wondering: is our problem not valuing Nature? Or is it that many of us are gaga petrified of it?
