In the wilds of Maine, tucked neatly amidst the grand and awe inspiring White Mountains, is a small forest village named Shapleigh. The winding gravel and dirt roads lead to a myriad of secret places spread throughout the frontier of forests bursting with verdant evergreens and ancient deciduous groves. The evenings are cool and musical with the cacophony of nature's varied and bountiful melodies; these are a testament to the concept of a living, breathing Earth. Beyond the city limits, down a lonesome, yet breathtaking span of road, steady on past the quaint handcrafted sign, lovingly painted in scarlet and white with the words, "If this is God's country, why set it on fire and make it look like Hell?", there you will find a rustic, slightly run down, faded red farmhouse that has quietly occupied the same charming plot of land since the late seventeenth century. This is the home that nurtured me as a child, and though the fond memories that flood my mind every time I picture that timeless wood and brick edifice serve to warm my heart faster that the old cast iron Franklin stove in its living room, this is not the focus of my tale. As a child of seven growing up in the rural out-lands of Maine, I was often lonesome and prone to find imaginary playmates with which to wile away the hours. The adventures these phantoms often led me on would take me to all manner of places in the forests that seemed to stretch on forever in every direction. One such adventure brought me to a small clearing, dominated by an enormous lichen encrusted boulder, half submerged in the soft ground around it. Upon finding it, I immediately forgot about the less tangible concerns of my afternoon games and became enamored with the sheer size and beauty of the thing. I slowly approached it, still not entirely sure what to do with this new discovery. Reaching out, timidly at first, and warily eying the ground for any signs of my arch-nemesis, poison ivy, which was the bane of my childhood existence due to a terrible skin allergy, I gently brushed my hand against the rough granite surface, each bump and ripple in the stone tickling my fingertips. More comfortable now, my other hand followed suit, and soon, I was embracing the monolith with my entire upper body. The cool surface felt soothing on my flushed cheeks, comforting and solid. I sat like that for what seemed to have been hours, though, due to my youthful perception of time, ten or fifteen minutes would most likely be more accurate. Pulling myself away from my new-found friend, I remembered my manners, and as I had been taught, immediately introduced myself, slightly embarrassed by my lack of courtesy. The Stone did not seem offended, so I took the opportunity to ask for permission to climb its heights and perhaps get a better view, as well as a much better seat. The Stone made no move to protest, so up I went. The climb itself was quite a feat for one of my size, but having been raised in the woods by a mountain climbing lumberjack, I was more than able to ascend the top and heft myself over the crest, which had been rounded by thousands of years of wind and rain. Once upon the summit, I gazed in wonder at the sheer magnificent beauty that surrounded me. The pale skin and black eye shaped knots that made up the spindly white birch trees, the ancient and massive oaks that stretched into the sky itself with branches strong as steel and leaves that held firm until the last days of Fall, and the wiry elms, graceful and poised like dancers that had sprung up from the Earth itself to dance with one another in a ballet that consisted of spins and turns that took a hundred years to complete. The sky yawned above me through a break in the tree canopy as blue and refreshing as any stream, allowing a shaft of light to illuminate nothing but the Stone and I. Taken aback for a moment, I almost did not notice the opalescent flicker of color at my feet. As I looked down, I noticed the entire surface upon which I now stood was rife with veins of quartz and amethyst, but it may as well have been diamonds, as little else I have ever seen could compare in beauty to the lights that danced within the translucent shapes below me. Dazzling glints and sparkles shown within each facet of every crystal, changing colors ever so slightly every time I moved my head. My heart raced with excitement and I fell to my knees, mesmerized by the movement and majesty of nature's wondrous creation that I had discovered here, secreted away from prying eyes and curious hands. I had no sense of greed, nor want to obtain the stones, but I knew then and there that this was a special place, one created just for me. I felt love the likes of which was previously unknown well up in my heart like a great tidal surge, an unselfish and raw emotion that would have torn apart an adult with the pure and innocent nature of what it was. I lay down, eyes closed, arms stretched out wide on either side of my small frame and smiled to myself. I lay there longer than I can now recount, listening intently to the sounds that surrounded me. Subtle and quiet, the innumerable voices of the forest, and all the abundant life that dwelled there, edged into my awareness, winding and melodic at times, dissonant and guttural at others. As I became aware of each new sound, I began to realize that what I had previously thought to be random and inane, was quickly forming what could only be described as a symphony of ambient sound, intricate phrases and refrains coming and going, crescendos and dynamic shifts of tone and rhythm, all falling into a song more diverse, more delicate, and more stunning than any human hand could ever craft. I drifted into a deep and peaceful sleep, the Earth itself lulling me to slumber with her song.