June 1, 2012 § Leave a comment
Breathe. Take a step back.
I was carved out of wood and stone.
Born in the North.
It shows most days. But not right now.
The cold can be a beautiful thing.
That first breath of winter air. The sound of snow under your feet.
When I was younger I swore the trees could talk.
Always groaning about the cold, whispering secrets.
It used to scare me.
But now, that’s all I want.
Barefoot in earth’s summer coat of green. I want to stand in the birch wood and listen.