In the hush beyond the horizon,
no voices gather,
only the wind.
I find my breath again.
The sky too wide to own,
stretches like an old hymn.
Over mountains,
Grasses speak in language,
older than memory.
With no judgement,
pines lean against horizon,
their truth revealed,
of balance and growth
toward the light.
A quiet insistence of being,
a place to rest,
where stone meets earth.
The wild forgets my solace,
or perhaps,
it embraced my gentle touch.
The mountains forgive my intrusion,
I am not lost.
I am found,
in its mercy.
A pinecone splits the silence
with defiance.
Moss, cradles,
wandering bolders,
like a spine.
In a place where nothing asks,
for more
than a simple,
long inhale
from the depths of the surrounds.
My aching muscles soften,
& loosen their grip,
of holding too long.
I do not need to be understood.
I only need to stay,
to witness,
to allow the vastness to call me home.
To remind me
how small
how sacred
how possible
I am.
T.J.
In appreciation and with gratitude to walk on Palawa Country in Lutruwita, across the lands of the Big River Tribe, through the beauty and embrace of wulinantikala.
Always was, always will be.
If you have enjoyed reading my posts, curious wanderings as a lifelong nomad, you may like to buy a budding writer a coffee or subscribe, of which I would be sincerely grateful to dedicate my life to writing, improving on writing and writing more. xo
Gratitude in abundance.
