The wilderness is an open invitation
to be a child once more. It calls to you
to grab a root running along the cliff face
Like a mother’s hardened fingers
You will slip and feel abandoned by her
But look around, you’ll see—
The wild calls to you and extends another arm
A fracture in a rock, a stubborn reed
vines splayed among the overgrowth
At times, it puts you in your place, as it should
The wild is strict and harsh and wise
The deadwood kingdom and the white waters
are deaf to your falls and self-loathing
You will emerge from the thicket—
small and innocent still.
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