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Mary a young independent hiker encounters the elusive Sasquatch race in Yellowstone national park. She befriends the intelligent telepathic creatures, who share with her the the truth of their origins–and of humanities.

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Mary was confident she wasn’t really lost in the forest. She’d been on enough group and guided and solo ventures out into Yellowstone before. She liked to wander a bit more than she should perhaps, allowing just her intuitive sense to guide her, relaxing her mind, just enjoy the forest without thinking at all.
Now at twenty-five, she was in the best shape of her life. She was also happy to be single. She had enjoyed many happy relationships, even one with a women–who was still her dearest friend. But Mary liked to spend as much time alone as possible. And she was content with her own company.
Mary also had a secret–a true secret which no one knew about, accept for the rare people like her she seldom encountered.
She was a telepath.
She found out when at just seven years old upon meeting her first other telepath, Ruby—an old black lady who lived down the street from her growing up until she was ten, in Mississippi.
“How you doing little girl?” Ruby said—but her lips hadn’t moved.
Mom and her had been doing a shopping of local farmers. Ruby didn’t farm anymore, since her husband died, but she was always a sitting fixture at the markets. Her flowery dress, wide hat and sunglasses, and skin so wrinkled it seemed to young Mary that the woman was a hundred years old.
Mary paused for a while and closed her eyes in the spectacular forest, she loved.
Mary was great friends with plants, trees, flowers. Unlike most people—who not only failed to notice the conscious nature of plants—her telepathy allowed her to actually communicate with them. Not as language, something deeper, but was still obviously “thoughtful.” They could have conversations.
When she was growing up, of course she had many pets of all kinds. Not just dogs and cats, but rabbits, domesticated rats, the pigs they kept and the chickens. But it was her special relationship with plants that characterized her way. In her bedroom, she had so many ferns, ivy, snake plants, philodendron, zeezee plants, rubber trees, a few Orchids, and a Norfolk Island Pine—whom she considered her best friend.
She never really elaborated to anyone, about how she talked to her plants. Sure people might have thought she was cute, and did similar things maybe in the garden when no one was looking. But like Ruby told her on one of her many visits to her porch:
“Folks don’t know plants are people too. Just like us, but better. They don’t have any problem unless we interfere with them. And they all know each other—maybe even all over the world. They are in harmony with the Creator, the one who lives us all. Don’t they make the most wonderful music?”
The “sound” she “heard” from her telepathic plant friends was like hearing music. Intelligent compositions with meaning and depth. What her parents never knew when she was growing up was that she didn’t need CD players and the like, just the music of the plants.
Her bedroom was always a gentle and perfectly scored opus all the time. The “music” of her plants was always in relationship to her no matter how she felt, always responding. And, they made a chorus together singing through all the days nights–even when she wasn’t in the room!
At school for example, she could still hear them—if she tuned in, her favorite pastime. But her plants were always aware of her, and how she was feeling. They were like angels at times, singing to her when she was alone at recess, or in the cafeteria, or just bored in class, or having a difficult time.
Indeed it was because of this profound relationship and awareness that she always enjoyed the hike. Anywhere into the forest.
As Mary stood happy, breathing in all the green and wide consciousness around her, she heard all her new friends sing. Complexly interwoven, unpredictable melodies—with unbelievable awareness of her presence in their grand domain. Welcoming, curious, easy, a congregation of true regard. Far more than an human being would ever grant let alone orchestrate upon a stranger.
She smelled something peculiar.
She was so involved in her special sensitivity, so happy, she did not react to it. But it was strange.
The plants seemed the same. But she was being distracted by it.
This smell.
The plants were suddenly quite. Not perfectly silent, but just stopped. Stopped talking.
Mary was startled. Since meeting Ruby and understanding her gift, she had never heard her plants, or any plants come to hush like this in her company. In most people’s company they hardly sang at all. But hummed. However any contact they had with “folks who don’t know that they’re people,” would jar them and silence them completely. This kind of hush was unprecedented.

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Audrey James

Vancouver, canada

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