The Pine Trees Called Me Home
It’s the way the forest smells after a rain shower.
It’s the way they are standing there, long and tall.
It’s the way they let me experience magic when my feet touch their soft bed of needles.
It’s the way they make me feel safe when I walk in the shadows of their branches.
I always felt a special connection to pine trees; a sense of familiarity, almost as if a memory is there so close, but just out of reach.
As a little girl, we often made family trips to the forest, but I only remember the visits to pine forests. As I grew older, I started to go there myself.
When I was in need of rest and nature.
When I felt that I had lost my way and wanted to return to my purpose path.
Connecting with them recharged me and gave me a clear vision of what I wanted in life. They have guided me for as long as I can remember.
And as the years passed, my desire to be around them grew stronger. My monthly visits to the forest were no longer enough.
When this connection transformed into a desire for wanderlust, I finally understood.
They were calling me home. They were showing me the way to my soul.
All I had to do was follow.
I gave in to the desire to find that perfect spot on earth where I could wake up between these majestic teachers.
They guided me into the Appalachian Mountains of America and shared with me stories about wolves and bears. They brought me to the high peaks of Banff in Canada, so I could see all their different forms of beauty.
I kept searching for that place—for that feeling of familiarity, for that memory, convinced that if I found this magical place, I would remember.
Six cities, four countries and five years later, I found home; and not only that, I found my soul.
They led me into the old forests of Sweden, where you can still feel the spirits of the Vikings roaming around.
It were the pine trees that brought me here, the pine trees that called me home.