The Mountains are Calling but I don't Want to Go

There were two things Hadley never really liked: sharing her toys and, of course, camping.

Her dad was almost done packing the last few items from his preparation list into the car—tent, sleeping bags, enough food for two days, and all the things that adventurous enthusiasts loved to take into nature.

"Dad, I don’t want to go," Hadley said, quickly pulling the lantern out of the trunk.

"Sweetheart, you have no idea how much fun you’ll have! Just be patient, you’ll see." He placed the lantern back where it was.

"But I don’t want to spend two days sitting on the ground staring at grass! I could stay home with the nanny— even that would be more fun!"

"The mountains are calling us, sweetheart," her mom said, appearing with a bag full of snacks for the trip.

"But I don’t want to go."

"When we’re in nature, we get a chance to disconnect from our normal lives and reconnect with a part of ourselves we don’t usually pay attention to," her dad said as he shut the trunk and took Hadley’s hand, leading her toward the car.

"But I like our normal life. I have my toys, I watch my favorite shows on TV, I play with my friends at school..."

"Yes, and nothing will change. It’s just for the weekend."

Her dad called everyone, and they started getting into the car. Hadley knew it was too late to convince them to let her stay. She could totally handle a weekend on her own.

The trip wasn’t all that exciting—lots of trees, horses of all shapes and colors, a cow here and there, and, of course, grass everywhere, stretching so far that she could barely see where it ended. But there were also beautiful flowers—blue, red, lilac—a rainbow on the ground. The blue sky met the green peaks of the mountains. Yes, it was beautiful, but she would rather be home.

After what felt like an eternity driving deeper into the forest, they finally stopped at what Hadley assumed was their campsite.

The day dragged on, the bright blue sky slowly fading into night, leaving only the sounds of the forest animals and the crackling campfire. Her siblings were playing hide and seek, while her parents told scary stories.

Hadley just wanted to go home.

Every night, she played with her planetarium—it showed all the constellations, each star shining brightly, perfectly arranged in the universe. Now, all she could do was look up and admire them, even if they weren’t as visible tonight.

Then, a sound came from the forest.

Everyone else was inside the tent—she was the only one still outside.

She heard it again. This time, it was followed by a pair of glowing yellow eyes staring at her from the darkness.

Before she even realized it, she was running as fast as she could. The eyes were gone, but so was her family.

She stopped and looked around—no lights, no sign of the campfire.

She called out for her parents, but no one answered. It was so dark, and she had no idea where to go. It felt like she had been lost for hours.

Just as she started to lose hope of ever getting back home, through her tears, she felt a tug—like something was pulling her forward.

Hadley Decides to Keep Moving Forward

The path grew steeper as she walked, and when she looked ahead, a towering mountain rose before her.

But of course, she wasn’t going any further. That mountain wouldn’t lead her anywhere. It was so high—she didn’t even know if she could make it.

She was about to turn back when she felt that tug again, almost as if something was whispering, “Go, that way.” Toward the mountain.

But why? What was the point of climbing it?

Maybe… maybe from the top, she would see the campfire. Maybe she would spot her family. Maybe she would finally find her way back.

She started climbing—sometimes running, sometimes moving slowly. The air grew colder, and the sounds around her were eerie at times. It felt like she would never reach the top. But then, before she even realized it, she was there—standing at the peak, looking out at the vastness before her, where the horizon dissolved into the sky.

But there was no sign of the camp. The forest below was so dense that it hid everything within it.

That was it. She would never go home again. She would never see her friends, her toys—what would she do now?

The tug came again, stronger this time, forcing her to look ahead.

She hadn’t stopped to think—she had climbed the entire mountain.

The wind made her hair dance as she stood at the summit. Up here, she heard nothing—no crickets, no rustling leaves—only the wind, moving back and forth, tireless.

It was so… peaceful.

The night unfolded into a million colors. The scent of earth and wood lingered in the air. The breeze softened against her face, and she suddenly realized—she was witnessing and feeling the orchestra of nature.

There was no more fear. No more monsters lurking in the dark.

Just Hadley, the mountains, the wind, and the stars.

Then, a brilliant light appeared in the sky, illuminating everything. The stars began to move—toward her.

Slowly, gracefully, they descended.

It was mesmerizing. She reached out, wanting to touch them, and one by one, they began to float into her hands, glowing like tiny lanterns.

Now she could find her way back.

The stars led the way, their soft light guiding her through the trees.

After a few minutes of running, she heard it—her parents calling her name.

"Mom! Dad! I’m here!"

She ran as fast as she could. And then, finally, she saw it—the campfire.

Her dad swept her up into his arms.

"We were so worried! We searched everywhere for you! What happened?"

"I got scared and got lost… but the mountain and the stars showed me the way back."

"Oh, sweetheart, we’re so happy you’re safe."

The next morning, they packed up to leave. Her mom loaded things into the car while her dad played with them. Sometimes, it felt like everything that had happened was just a dream—the stars had been so magical.

"Dad, when can we go camping again?"

He smiled at her, as if he already knew the reason behind her question.

"Soon, sweetheart. The mountains will call you again."

"And I’ll be ready to go."

On the drive home, Hadley silently said goodbye to nature, grateful for its existence and wishing it well.

That familiar tug came again—gentle this time, like a quiet farewell.

Until next time.