Just the word alone can amplify our feelings that are already there.

Sadness.

Peace.

Sleepiness.

Thirst.

A desire to snuggle up and stay indoors.

An urge to find puddles and splash ourselves with muddy water.

And all of the other daydreams that come from that sound.

The instinctive recognition has found its way into our DNA.

Evolving over millennia to trigger survival.

Physically, and mentally.

Protect the tribe.

Nourish the crops.

Track the game.

Stoke the fire.

Breathe in the Earth.

As we mix the petrichor with the sounds of a modern world, does this reaction change?

Do we see rain as an impediment to human progress?

Or does it trigger pride in our ability to overcome it.

To be safe in our home.

To be dry under our roof.

We have the option of how to react to the sounds.

Because we have overcome what was once a threat.

But still, Mother Nature knows no bounds.

And gives validity to that survival instinct.

In the end, rain can leave us with gratitude.

For all of the forecasts we can predict.

For all of the awnings we can create.

And all of the puddles we still have yet to splash in.

Walking.

The courageous decision.

Toward an unknown future.

Starts easier than expected.

Still I rest.

Uncertain.

Birds encourage with music.

But my core knows to keep going.

The Earth under my feet changing.

The wind comes and blows.

Strong at times, it lets me know it’s there.

But I keep walking.

And breathing.

Shuffling.

And listening.

Hints of technology.

In the distance.

Then possibly a frog.

Maybe a turtle.

All shivering in the brisk winter air.

All uncertain of our fate.

I forge ahead.

Gravel to grass.

Branches crack under my feet.

The path gets clear.

Stability is found.

I finally arrive.

Everything is quiet.

The birds mockingly approve.

They find it funny.

That it took me so long.

And I arrived alone.

It's closer than you think. Just outside your back door, or down that road from the highway, you can listen past the noise, and find an abundance of singing, dancing, and frolicking in the suburbs.

In the beginning, you can hear one or two of these amazing insects make their classic "Katy-did" call every second or two. At 0:42 we fast-forward to the late evening, when the entire orchestra comes out to play.

This male common loon was probably yodeling how much he enjoys floating in Adirondack lakes. I agree, but left the yodeling to him.

Sometimes keeping our footing was tough, but wasn't it worth the journey at the end?

Dozens of different calls echo throughout his neighborhood. The responses were encouraging, possibly?