Sometimes the forest calls me back, and with every step I’m reminded why it feels like home. This is the story behind the very first Whisper of Nature I want to share with you.
I step into the forest, rocks crunching underneath my boots, raindrops still dripping onto my jacket after the shower has passed. The air feels fresh, clean.
I close my eyes … breathe … and smile.
This is my local forest. The one I grew up in. I played here for endless hours with friends—exploring meadows, climbing trees, following clear creeks wherever they led. I’ve always felt deeply connected to this place, and even now, after our long flight from California to visit my parents, these trees greet me like old friends. They bring me a sense of calm, of happiness that’s hard to put into words.
The trail ahead is one I know by heart, though it feels different now. More overgrown. The forest floor is thick with young trees, moss clings to roots, ferns brush against my legs, and Alder branches bend low, forming a kind of gate into a clearing filled with life. My nephew would call this path “romantic,” and I have to agree—everything around me is alive, every shade of green shining as the light rain falls onto my face.
It’s so quiet. So peaceful.
And then, I hear it.
Swish, swish, swish.
The water wheel. My dad built it years ago, set into this little creek that sometimes runs too low for the wheel to turn. But after days of steady rain, the water is strong, and the wheel turns again, steady and sure. Its rhythm drowns out the road nearby and quiets the noise in my mind.
Swish, swish, swish.
I stand still, listening, letting it sink in. Hypnotic, calming, grounding.
It feels right that this is the very first Whisper of Nature I share. If it speaks to you too, I’d love for you to watch the video and take the forest with you through the free downloadable wallpaper — a gentle reminder to pause, breathe, and smile.
Thank you for sharing your valuable time with me today, and for your support.
May these whispers touch your soul as they did mine.
Love,
Andrea