Voices on the Forest Floor

Chicken Little was only seven years old the day she realized what it meant to be female in the small Georgia town she lived in. She was only seven and yet she knew that she was being groomed to become some man's wife. She already resented the idea. Her mother told her stories each night before she went to bed about princesses saved by some mysterious prince. Chicken Little thought this prince was a freak. She didn't know any man who would risk their life for a woman, princess or not. It just didn't seem natural to her.

Furthermore, He didn't think it was very natural either. He told Chicken Little that a man of their century cared more about industry than love. Chicken Little knew He was right. She didn't know why, but everything He said became Chicken Little's gospel. If she could have she would rather sneak out to the Oak grove than go to Sunday services. He was her conscious and her little cricket on her shoulder.

Who was He? That was the one thing Chicken Little knew but did not know. Chicken Little knew him intensely in the most intimate way anyone can know a person. She saw his thoughts and his ideas and his morals as clearly as she saw her own. The only part of He that Chicken Little did not know was his face and his external form.

Chicken Little spent most her summer days thinking of how she would sneak out to the Grove to talk with him. Her two brothers came home from boarding school in the summer days and they were constantly around, watching her. Chicken Little appreciated this as a sign of their love for her, but it made her visits to the grove, her visits to the man who had given her her name, innately harder. This she resent as the visits were all she lived for these days. Her visits kept her sane and away from her crazy mother.

Her crazy mother didn't understand why Chicken Little fidgeted while learning to sew, or why she asked so many questions. She always asked the questions that could not be answered by neither man nor God. Chicken Little's crazy mother also worried when she heard her daughter pacing in her room during the night and she worried even more when in the summer of 1852 she stopped hearing the pacing. The pacing of course stopped because Chicken Little was gone from her room. Chicken Little was at the Grove with her voice, with the man called He.