It’s like being wrapped up and held tight.
Or is it more serene expansion, expanding of self until one is cloud-like and free? Passing itinerant, still able to shed wistful tears, mingling darkness with light.
It feels less mercurial than weather.
It feels like being a child in an unmolested moment of play. Building an imaginary world, a comforting set piece of the mind, where you escape into…
I don’t know.
This wrapped up feeling.
Of safety and forgiveness.
Sanctuary. Soul Settler.
I’ve never felt calm before
Watching and listening and carrying worlds inside your chest.
Gently you share them. (You know you must.)
I dip in and out of the congregation, filling my cup.
I am a glutton.
I cannot get enough of what the land has to offer. I try to gather it in my arms. I hold it close. I smother it.
But the yielding meadows can handle my smothering. I am reduced to the tiniest observer, softly so as not to interrupt the great hum of life that brings me to my knees in insignificance. I creep along and gather and hold close and smother.
And set free.
You are quiet in the forest. You wait for me. You allow me to expand and look skyward. To set up my encampment on moss covered rocks and hide away under twigs and bramble.
For a time, not for long. Not to go under, not to go too deep, not to lose sight in the darkness.
The line is gossamer and can barely be put into words.