Boots stick in the mud.
Little streams run down the woodland trails I walk daily with my dog.
A candle lit at the base of a tree in twilight.
To be human, to be simply alive, to feel the sun on my face, that’s all.
Thank you for this day. For the children. For this peace, this health, this simple life. For the freedom to be with the trees.
I find solace in my solitude and wonder if it’s possible to walk with another so silently. Can love deepen the richness of my own silence? Can I ever fully share who I am when I am alone, with another?
I want a relationship that’s already two years in. I don’t want to have to get to know you. The sex is already deep and perpetually growing. We laugh often. I see your thoughts alongside my own and I wonder sometimes whether I’m viewing the world from your psychology or mine. Sometimes I hate it and I don’t know if my thoughts are yours or my own and I will swim for hours, smudge the nape my neck, fast by campfire, smear my face with blood and be completely alone for a while just to remember who I am. To remember the depth of my own silence.
April rivers in Vermont are cold but the air is warm. Feels like 70 degrees and I air dry nude on the bank, feet in the sand. I count in my mind April, May, June, July, August, September and decide that six months of swimming makes the winters worth it.