There's a part of me that sometimes wishes that all of life were quiet. Save for the hum of the wind and the land, the birds and voices of the forest. A world of outdoor foraging, moonlight fires and big branch napping. Arms to collect wild flowers and hands to weave leaf necklaces. What would it be like to learn the language of bears — the language and laws of the jungle? The Jungle Book and Kipling's imagination take you to a world you somehow remember. . .
These are the adventures of Mowgli, his callused hands and feet. Eyes full of sky! Ears for understanding. The jungle is a place where strength seeps into your skin, growing deeper every time you cut yourself from running and climbing something. Kipling fashioned this novel in rural Brattleboro, Vermont after a colorful childhood in England and rolling India. I imagine him barefoot, land and trees full of green, writing against the grain of the previous landscapes he once traipsed. Come New England's cold and snow, he writes of India's deadening heat. Only in the animal kingdom would such an environment lead to peace.

The laws of the Jungle are what fascinate me most. And the Great Elephant that created the world! An animal god walking thousands of miles to fill every known ocean, lake and valley. Kipling describes the beginning of time — when all animals lay down together. No packs, no tribes, no fear and no hunting. . . Even the great tiger ate berries! The Jungle Book by Ruyland Kipling is an absolute must read for all — I urge you at once to unravel your imagination and start this summer in these pages. Paint and deckle your shoulders with wreaths of leaves and let your hair grow flowers. . .

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