We are married. Like the geese.

Kya knew it wasn’t so much that the herd would be incomplete without one of its deer, but that each deer would be incomplete without her herd

Autumn leaves don't fall, they fly. They take their time and wander on this their only chance to soar.

Kya didn’t stop or they would bolt, a lesson she’d learned from watching wild turkeys: if you act like a predator, they act like prey. Just ignore them, keep going slowly.

She feels the pulse of life because there are no layers between her and her planet.

Autumn was coming; the evergreens might not have noticed, but the sycamores did.

At the chirp of a chipmunk she whirled around, listened keenly to the caws of crows - a language before words were, when communication was simple and clear.

Most of what she knew, she'd learned from the wild. Nature had nurtured, tutored, and protected her when no one else would.