Brave in life,
but not in love.
Is such a thing possible?

Is bravery in the mountains
and foreign lands really bravery
or cowardice?
Am I hiding from myself
or growing into a new version?

I wanted to live a life of adventure,
but love seemed to distract me.
I wasn't afraid of death,
but I was afraid of love.
Isn't the opposite of death
love, after all?

You are more than your love.
You are more than him.
You can love him and not have him
and still be at peace.
Let your love flow
and unfold before you,
and let it go where it will.
But you are more than that love.

The universe longs to see
your myriad of gifts and talents.
Your voice like silk,
your mind like thunder,
and your body like the ocean,
strong yet flexible,
beautiful and evasive -
no one can possess you,
but they can delight in you.

Delight in yourself first.

Of all the beautiful words
and people in the world,
I most wished to learn them all.
Each foreign language
became so intimate once
on my tongue,
like a lover
I was just starting to get to know.

The mountains powdered
with termination dust
hark the end of summer.
Soon the clusters of evergreens
will be coated in snow,
just as they were last winter.
The snow falls flake by flake.
It's in no rush to hit the ground;
it will melt once it does.
The fireweed has bloomed -
only towering stalks and wilted
magenta flowers remain.

The same type of peace
befalls my quiet life.
Slowly, I return to old ways.
Like footprints in the snow,
the tread of future days
looks much like those of the past.

I try to retrace my steps,
but the snow's already
covered the footprints.

I think of you in silence,
so I try to keep life loud.
I lack the will to listen
for that which was
only ever a whisper.

How do you miss a thing
that is long gone?
How do you miss a thing
that never was?

A quiet field of snow
untouched,
unburdened -
I leap through it,
leaving large footprints
and nullifying the stillness
which had graced the field before me.
Luckily,
there is always more grace
to be found in nature;
and so I plod onwards,
my stride slow and heavy,
but joyful as it finds
and matches the tracks
of the moose and ptarmigan
who frolic through this valley.

There is, after all,
an answer to the meaning of life
and love and joy.
And it lies in the valley of snow before me
for all the world to bear witness to.

Those sunrises which came so slowly in the winter
made me want to believe in God again.
The pink tinge of the sky and
the once green grass now covered
in silky snow, which would soon melt away,
made me want to believe in God again.

The whole beauty and synchrony
of the world coming together in nature
finally made me believe in God again.

I found prayer, not in a church,
but among the trees
and teeming rivers
and hidden lakes.
They gave me faith in the
natural way of things,
in something greater,
stronger, more pure
than anything I'd ever known.