The Wild,
it calls to me
I hear my name in the wind,
Whispers of it,
dance along the branches of the hawthorn tree,
Whose red berries, soothe my heart.
My feet long for the cold fresh waters,
That can only be found high up in the mountains.
I long for the smell of earth in my hair,
For my hands to be stained,
from the wild greens,
I have foraged.
Oh the longing,
To slip away into the wild,
To break away,
From the trauma of others,
Trauma that could very well,
pull me under.
If I lose my way.
As the energy moves and changes
I allow myself,
to change with it.
For my body knows what it needs,
I just need to listen.
