A wide sky above me

my feet fall to my heart’s stride

it’s wake is confident when I roam

the sky stretching is deep inside

it’s wind to welcome me home

and if I die

it should be in this place

the woods once more

I’ll be gone, and so ache.

in a ways and many turns I find a corner to the door

in forest green and micklehome, safety bounds me more

just another branching out

it’s a sickness called if never found

oh my aches and how sad they fall

to lose in vain what I fight per day for

Returning to the forest floor

Today I had my first negative test after 8 days in isolation. There’s only one thing I’ve been craving while I’ve been resting in bed, so immediately I put my boots on and headed through the woods attached to the garden at my parents. I was worried about my breathing and I was worried about my energy, since the most common thing I hear after having Covid is “I’m fine, I just get randomly out of breath sometimes”. I don’t fear many things, but losing the capability to be alone and energised in nature would be the greatest cost I could imagine to my life.

My feet fell like I hadn’t been off them, and my lungs breathed late January air to their most. At each fork in the path, I met the familiar feeling to keep going and going and going and I was so grateful. I veered off the path to where I felt the pull and found a spot where the trees were old, with their twisted spines overlapping. I sat with them, my mind full and my heart heavy. They took me in a moment. I didn’t need to focus on my breath and there was no conscious effort to labour it- there was no decision to be still.

When you connect to nature in that way, and in your solitude, peace is as easy to return to as slipping underwater. It’s a weightlessness, and it’s a surrender. I lay back, and rested my head on the padded floor behind me. Tension uncoiled from my eyes, leaving only the sight of towering green and brown against a milky graphite sky. I lay there sober, but somehow the colours flirted with each other, never keeping within the lines, and far off, the leaves that have survived the long winter danced among themselves making the light just… ebb. I felt the wood breathe and I followed its tempo. They accepted my stillness, and I was invited to conversation.

It’s so subtle, the sound of bark on bark as they connect, branches softly swaying under their own weight, and it’s a treat to hear one fall, to be present when the shape of a tree, however small, is changed forever. A squirrel came shortly after, and made no notice of me while she carried out her work. My thoughts naturally fell back on what had been occupying my mind, but this time, capable, stronger, more sure of what I know and what I need.

I evaluated, I found peace in the situation I had no control over, I thanked the forest three times and returned to my van and its warmth, sure again of their ancient embrace, and my quiet role amongst them.

Together at dawn

This evening, late into the night, I walked up the hill near my childhood home to clear my mind and be alone with nature. The sky was a clear stretch of uninterrupted stars and the night was still. On the way down I walked slowly, and stopped still when I saw him coming in the opposite direction, walking up toward me. He had come to be close to me while we weren’t talking, to feel the energy of us in a familiar place. We didn’t say many words before we were entwined, his soft lips finally against mine. We went back to the warm folds of my duvet and connected to that place again. We woke up next to each other in a mist of early dawn.

It was so clear in my mind, but there I was alone on the hill. I felt so strongly the gentle press of his thumb on the back of my neck and his warm breath kissing my skin. For a moment I was in that place of ours again, that comfort in the morning haze.