Ten years. It’s been ten years since I began living, surviving, and thriving in these woods. Such a monumental anniversary seems surreal. 

I can’t believe I’ve spent an entire decade hiding from humanity. The last face I saw besides my own reflected in the river water was a panhandler’s. He was small and bent with an overgrown beard and a mean glint in his eyes. He shook his cup at me, a cup full of dirty coins. The coins kept clinking and clanking, over and over. I hated their sounds. It was the final reminder of what I hoped to escape: the noise. All the nasty noise. 

Ever since I was little, I despised it. As a small girl, I always savored my moments alone, my moments away from everyone’s loud mouths and loud breathing and loud laughter. I played by myself whenever possible. I snuck off to the library where my ears never detected anything louder than the faint turning of pages in a book. Everywhere else, everyone always danced. They stomped around and around, with no regard for my sanity. Their music flooded the air. It was as if they had forgotten nature’s music.

The only sounds that appealed to me were those of the songbirds or the gentle breeze weaving in and out of the trees. I loved the sound of running water or cicadas in the night. But I hated the sounds of the city.

The fast-moving cars that whizzed and honked. The hurrying, scurrying people whose shoes pounded the sidewalk. The whirring and banging of a construction site. All the nasty noise that hurt my ears, my head, and my heart.

I had to leave…and so I did.

I remember packing the morning that I left. Since my belongings would be few, I promised myself that each one would serve as a pleasant reminder of the world I chose to abandon. After all, not everything about urban life disgusted me. I would miss the luxuries made possible by industrialization---mostly the sensual feel of fine cloth my clumsy hands would never learn to spin themselves. 

That’s why I carefully chose my garments. They had to be soft and beautiful. As a small girl, the feel of my favorite dress against my skin always comforted me. It reminded me that delicacy and sensitively still existed; I would just to leave for a while to fully understand that. So when I packed, I kept this in mind: my dresses had to force me to one day come back. Because one day, after all, the cloth would fall apart. The realities of living in the woods would shred them, ruin them. And I would have to replace them.

Today is that day. Today I must replace my gowns. I will finally return to civilization. Once, I dreaded this day. Once, I worried that if I left, I would never be able to come back to the arms of my mother and father. They would reject me for becoming so arboreal. I worried that after enjoying so many years of silence and solitude, the demands of city life would kill me. 

But all of those fears have dissipated. Silence has graced my ears enough to last me a lifetime. No matter what nasty noise I encounter from now on, I can always reflect back to my blissful days in the woods. The quiet imbues my soul and I am at peace. 

Now into their world I go. Perhaps now I can claim it as my own, as well.