I adventured to the woods by one of the middle schools in my small town. Krueger outdoor environmental science center. It was towards the beginning of the end of a normally lengthy winter so there was still plenty of snow to cover most of the ground. Plenty of birds talking in their chirp language and plenty of rodents footprints from playing in the snow that covered the wooded foundation of earth. I found my way to a frozen little pond where it comes just off the creek to its own little basin of water. I slid on the solid ice and had my fun just like the free little bunnies, squirrels, and whatever land animals resides in these beautiful woods. I could tell they had their fun on the ice play land too because I could see the image of their tracks imprinted in what snow was laying on the face of the ice. There’s a decent sized dam at the start of the trail right next to the creek I was walking, what a relaxing view it was with the sound of the water rushing down it like a waterfall to the continuing side of the miles long creek. I came to a little divot in the trail where a small slanted hill dips down into the creek and it’s chilled water. I sat here on this hill to write this piece while the sun shines down directly on me keeping me warm and comfy while writing. Such a peace defining moment where you get to notice every little detail of the extraordinary nature life we’re given to observe and experience. The way pieces of tree bark, little sticks, leaves, and sediment float atop the creek water going whichever direction the drift carries them. The smell of damp dirt as I rubbed my hands in it to remember what it was like to be a kid and not care to play in the earth. More so just to be human, to be a mammal and bring myself one with the crusted surface and connect with the earth that homes my body and soul. There was a huge doe and buck playfully frolicking across the creek side I was sitting from; I only noticed them at first because they made their loud exhales of breath to communicate they were there. Either that or they were just breathing so heavy from playing and running for so long with each other aha. They must’ve knew I was friendly and wanted to give me a sight to look at and what a euphoric moment it was to enjoy the picture of them playing together. I went to get a closer look at the water and maybe dip my hands in it. I failed to notice how muddy the hill was and almost lost my footing in the sludge as I went down and barely escaped taking a swim in the freezing cold creek! While I was at the bottom of the hill I washed the mud off my hands from catching myself by palming the grime and not letting myself slip down any further. I know the birds got a kick out of watching me struggle not to take a dive into that ice cold water that I was so frantically trying to stay out of! =‘D I had to drop my phone just to stay on land and when I picked it up I noticed there was mud all over the casing of it! I wiped it off on my sweatshirt that I had already gotten mud all over the sleeve of from plunging to my elbows and hands and just kept writing. Or typing, whichever you want to call it on these cellular devices. After I sat there and soaked in the moment that nurtured my indulging senses for a while I simply got up and continued to the end of this trail. Then I back tracked through the trail and took some more time to go ice skating in my normal shoes. I followed my own footprints back onto the trail that I veered off of to find the little frozen over pond and went for a jog back to my warm cozy home and published this piece of simple writing explaining my adventurous and funny morning I had. Never forget to do this when you have free time from responsibility and the reality society in America has created for this generation. Explore your youthful intuition and let nature be one of the best friends you could ever ask for!
Nature walk in the trails of the wild things’ home
“I think there’s something wrong with you and that’s okay,” she sings with all her heart and strums the guitar with my pick. I’m in charge of the chords, holding the guitar so she can reach it where she sits. We dream it up together, but I phone it in I admit.
A, D, E - 1, 4, 5 - arbitrarily chose. She keeps it alive with her prose Just 5 years old A poet with her eyes closed.
You can be anything you want to be, and that’s okay as long as you’re happy.
Like she knows The greatest longings of the whole of humanity,
Like she’s peered into the depths of the vast ocean of broken hearts, And know this is the best place to start…
Like it’s easy.
“It’s okay”, she sings with closed eyes, and strums the guitar in musical bliss.
Do you, too, like to stare at the moon, chandeliers and *** lights? when your eyes feel like they belong to a sculpture stuck in place, tunnel vision Do you, too, make moonlight out of street lamps, and use dreams to feed the craving of meaningful existence?
Having been referred to on multiple occasions as being “depressed”, I am offended. Every time. Having a chronically macabre state of mind and being drawn to a melancholy atmosphere and writing does not make one depressed. Or a psychopath. It does not mean a person is on a journey to being a serial killer or committing suicide. Some people, such as myself, just happen to find comfort in things deep and meaningful. While some comedy, joy, and love is to be revered and enjoyed more sparingly the sad, twisted, and horrid truths of the world can uphold a better sense of completion, joy, and love. This does not make one depressed or mentally ill but perhaps just more...... thoughtful.
Sturdy as a titan is the oak off in the yard Stuck strong and deep in the mud, with the permanence of a mountain ridge There wasn’t a force of man, nature, or God that could catch her off her guard Until one golden morning came to pass, which started without a hitch, Only this time an army of tiny fellows were summoned to follow, And there they were, a pack of carpenter ants ready for a momentous feast, Eagerly and with ease, turning the impenetrable oak completely and utterly hollow.
He loves his boy drunk, and in the dark. The scent of fresh spirits clinging to his tongue as he whispers his insecurities into the shadowed night. His hands wrapped around the fragile boys arms, even though they shouldn't,
because this boy, his boy, is too bright, too precious to loosen the grip he has. While he is made up of stolen cigarette smoke and bruised knuckled smiles, the love he has conjured up is beyond magic.
He lusts his boy sober and dawn breaks through the curtained room.
Coffee engulfs the narrowed hallways and the creaking wooden board is the only sound heard besides soft snores. He looks away from the paled soul, loosens his touch and each time he gets up and leaves, he breaks both their hearts. don't you know you can love him with the lights on too?