I grew up in the heart of the Virginia woods. It was where the trees whispered secrets and the animals were just extended family.

The air was still thick with the scent of pine, and it hummed with life thriving in the underbrush.

My mother, a fiery spirit named Irene, had found a haven there, away from the grips of a world that never really meshed with her.

She was as unpredictable, and this woodsy woman taught me everything I know.

It is thanks to her that I can weave through these woods at eighty-four years old without encountering any major setbacks or broken ankles.

"Remember, child," she'd say, her eyes glowing like midnight stars, "the forest doesn't care. It's people you gotta look out for."

As much a member of our tiny family as anybody was my dog Jane.

One moonlit night, this mutt with all the heart of the woods wandered into our lives as a stray.

She had fur the color of earth itself, and eyes that resembled stars covering the entire night sky.

She was also smart--a lot smarter than most people I've known in my eighty-four years

Our first adventure was back when I was just seven.

We'd been in the cabin for a couple of years then, learning how to live off nature's store and sell furs.

Jane had transformed from a tiny puppy into an intelligent, sleek animal that could keep up with squirrels for miles

"Mama," I whispered one evening by the fire, "how come we live here?"

Mother stared into the flames, her expression at once sad and free. "Because the trees don't ask questions, darlin'. They just stand tall and listen."

But we didn't have much, a mere log cabin we had cut ourselves, a garden that grew what food we gathered, and the clothes on our bodies.

But this was more than enough.

One day as summer was ending, the peace was shattered by a roar of thunder in the distance.

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

Jane twitched her ears: she looked at me–trouble was brewing.

Mother took her gun and we went into the woods. "There's a storm comin', " she murmured under her breath. But it was not rain that would fall like this.

We stumbled onto some men, shadows of trees hiding their faces. They were cutting down the very lifeblood of our home. Mother narrowed her eyes and raised the gun.

"You ain't takin' nothin' from us, " she sneered at them and they stood still.

The leader stepped forward, sneer curling his lips. "What you got we want, mad woman? " he spat. "Just some more land we aim to tame."

Mother's finger pulled back on the trigger. "It's not just the land. It's our life."

Jane snarled, her back arched. The men looked around, their eyes widening as they realized they were surrounded by a wilderness that sought to eat them up. They ran off, leaving their implements behind.

The next morning came to a bear cub in a trap, crying out in pain. His mother was nowhere to be seen. Mother knows what we have to do.

"We can't let it stay here like this, " she said in strangled tones.

We nursed that cub back to health. Named him Brutus. He became part of our family, a gentle giant who knew both the taste of fear and kindness.

Years passed and we had more adventures than most folks have in a lifetime. We found lost souls in the woods, both human and animal, and offered them refuge, Jane and I grew into finer friends, the forest our playground, the trees our guardians.

The strangest tale of all, however, was the day the lights appeared.

We were out foraging for berries when the sky lit up like a firecracker party. My mother grasped my hand, her eyes wide open. "We must go home." Her voice was shaking.

We skirted the edge of the woods, the lights after us, darting zigzag through the trees. They grew closer, and brighter until they formed a ring around our cabin.

A figure emerged. It glowed like a ghost. It was a woman, tall and ethereal.

She looked at Mother, and spoke in a tongue I'd never heard.

My mother's eyes widened. "They're here," she said. "They've found me."

The woman held out a hand, and Mother reached for it. They walked into the light and were gone, leaving me and Jane behind.

For days I waited, hoping she'd come back.

But she never did.

Jane and I held onto each other that day, the only family left in the world we knew.

And though the lights never returned that season, the whispers in the woods grew louder.

I learned to live without her, to survive, and to thrive for the time being. And as I aged, so did the stories too.

Some say Irene was a nature witch, some say she was an angel.

I know she loved the woods so much that she became part of them.

Now, rocking in my chair, I sit watching the shadows dance across the walls of my cabin, and I can feel her with me.

With Jane long gone, her spirit lingers in every rustle of leaves, in the cry of the wind.

And over the years, like the flaking bark of an old tree, I am aware that sooner or later I am also going to return to the forest.

Many adventures followed the death of my mother. Perhaps I am too old to say these things, but I'm not taken by the trees yet.

A little time for these stories to tell I say.

So for now, her secrets and the sound of our adventures will stay safely in my heart.

I must rest.

Much talking amongst the trees will whisper my heart's melody in the morning light.