Forgotten Nature Spurns Reality
I wander, aimlessly traipsing far beyond where I have ever before been. The woodland is my solace. I notice little things: the morning sunlight radiating through the looming trees and reflecting dully from the glossy leaves; the crunch of various sized and shaped twigs precariously perched beneath my clumsy feet; the splendor of song swelling from a lone bird aloof in the mess of branches far above me; the loose, crumbly texture of bark at my explorative fingertips that somehow manage to feel everything in sight, as if touch was the only way to feel alive; and the sweet, fresh scent of morning encompassed by the aura of Mother Nature.
The wilderness is home. I close my eyes and just breathe. I breathe for clarity. I breathe for inspiration. I breathe to prove that I am still here, that I am still living--as if every breath of all-natural, homemade plants' breath oxygen will cure any ailments that befall me. I lift my still-closed eyes toward the sky, allowing the sunshine to dance freely across the surface of my skin. Solitude is my everything. Social graces are nothing. Here, in this moment, surrounded by the simplicity of nature, nothing else matters but this reality. Various thoughts go whirring in and out of my consciousness, slamming my mind in a flurry of haste that causes the timeless serenity of my world to falter. For a brief second, I panic as my mind begins to release its grasp on the here and now, the dirt and trees and babbling creeks and sunshine. I lower myself to the dirt-strewn, critter-made path, allowing the dust to settle on my skin and inside of me, quieting my brain. Again, I allow myself to just breathe, to slow it all down, to simply be without care. Because here, in the bliss of exploration, I see...the wild is free. This wild is me. I am whom I choose to be.
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