Secrets for the Woods
There's a place where the trees know all the things I could never bring myself to say to another person, but I needed something living to hear them all the same. I sat among their fallen brothers and told them battle hardened stories, the start of everything I might come across. The wind held me, and the moon looked with sympathetic eyes, as I cried and I cried. The shadows danced and told me that this was home, the water was still and infinite as I wondered what it would be like to find the very bottom of the lake, because maybe if I found the bottom I would know what people meant when they said I was grounded, because I don't know what that feels like not really. It's always fleeting when I think I have it, slipping through my fingers like grains of sand. I felt the need to run, not away, but to go and be lost, lost to be found, to feel cold air pass through me, because I have always belonged to the woods. I have always had an intense need to be one of the trees, or one of the things that is safe living with them. I think that's why I've never moved to the country, I don't think I would ever come back. Because all I really need is to know that nature is listening. I feel it most and know it best when the weather shifts and the veil is thin, reminding me that there is so much more than this blink of an existence. I talk to the trees, because they will never judge me for knowing what it is to bleed and that is why there will always be places where the trees know what I wouldn't breathe to a human soul.