You know what I love? Random clearings in the forest. The way the light seeps through the trees, blanketing the open, grassy earth with warmth. The chance that there could be wildflowers that you can lay back in and collect. Nature is magical, truly.
leave food out for the stray animals. and the wild plants. and the fungi. devote your life to them. open your home to them. leave your body for them when your time comes, they will be held over until someone finds you.
the fog is a good cover. let her hug you. she will be surprisingly warm once you settle into her arms. she will whisper you the path, so do not panic if she blinds you.
stow away in an outbound ship, buried an arm’s length from the all-extinguishing ocean, knees to your chin and lips that refuse the shape of an apology. you will be found, but too late; you will be free.
learning to identify wildflowers that bloom near my home feels like befriending them, like i’ve been admitted into an amiable new social circle. i greet them by name (winecup, dandelion, primrose, bluebonnet, prairie fire) and they nod as i pass, with a cheerfulness that more than makes up for their silence
I yearn to lay in vast wheat fields in the rain, soaked in a cold that hits my bones, shocked awake with an overwhelming sense of being alive. To lay tucked into the crook of a tree's branch, whispered to by the gentle voice of the breeze, bathed in golden light that slips through the leaves. To dig my heels into the wet sand on a beach with black sand and stones, to listen to the howling winds of the storm and watch waves crash ashore as thunder bellows above. To run barefoot through the woods, feeling the slippery moss and the tough wood as I leap over logs and duck under branches, running towards some unknown but important destination. To dance joyously in a valley of flowers at sunset, my hands outstretched to the pink and honey sky, laughing merrily for no reason. More than anything I long to lay my head into a lover's lap and have him stroke my hair, together on a victorian silk couch, hidden behind the walls of an ancient stone castle.
There are a hundred lives I could live and a million places to be, but we only have one, and that is our most painful tragedy. It is our curse. But even here, with my longings, I shall continue to reside in my room, shackled to the restraints of responsibility, until I escape. And despite the melancholy nature of this reality, I never shall lose hope for these locations. For the million lives I'll live in the one I have been gifted.
i am far too enthralled by magic and the sea
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stow away in an outbound ship, buried an arm’s length from the all-extinguishing ocean, knees to your chin and lips that refuse the shape of an apology. you will be found, but too late; you will be free.
swim with me through the hazy light of street lamps. your hair drifts weightless and my lungs feel ready to burst. the real world has slipped out of sight.
creep through the halls of the overgrown mansion by night, footfalls muted by fading carpet, with a raised candle for light and an fire-poker for a weapon
the cold has sunk its teeth in me, and i am far from home
Do you sometimes have this urge to go on an epic adventure that will completely change you as a person? Do you dream about pirate ships, highest mountains and deepest woods full of secrets, brave people seemingly not from this world? I want to discover the world so much that it almost hurts. Not just the world, but the magic in it. God, sometimes I just want to see the magic. I hope there is some of it left.
i love all the words we have that mean traveler. i love the shades of difference between wanderer and rambler and rover. i love the boldness of adventurer and the purposefulness of explorer, the lawlessness of vagabond and the capability of wayfarer, the quiet reverence of pilgrim and the wild rootlessness of nomad.
pinch branches from rosemary bushes that stretch across the sidewalk. rescue cut stalks of mint that have fallen to the nursery floor. buy a tiny aloe vera from the elementary school’s garden sale. plant your window sill garden in old cans and emptied yogurt cups, and breathe in deeply the smell of herbs and damp soil.
carry a compass with you. as you learn to orient yourself by the sun and stars, you will rely on it less and less, but its weight in your pocket is a comfort and an anchor
