When I lean down to smell the wild flowers, their dew soaked petals, soft like velvet, brush up against my lips. It is the sweetest, most fragrant kiss I’ve ever felt.
When I reach out to tangle my fingers in the long grasses of the fields, their blade like leaves cling to my skin. It is the most comforting embrace.
And sometimes the skies are heavy with rain, and sometimes they are light with sunshine. But either way they stretch above me like a canvas of fine brush strokes, the colors in scalloped, streaking patterns of heavenly bliss. I’d imagine the world woke up quite early today to paint me such a masterpiece. The vivid greens, the violet hues, the richness of the soil have you ever looked upon a painting and felt the breeze upon your face? Felt the warm glow of the sun as it caramelizes your soft skin? Smelled the dampness in the earth, listened to the trickling of meandering streams that wander without purpose? I wander with them.
Have you sat down in those fields; allowed the moisture of the grounds to seep into your clothing, blanketing your body in invigorating chill? Have you lied your tired face down upon the pillowed comfort of the plains, closed your eyes and rested? I could slumber for a hundred years against the bosom of this world.
Have you gotten lost in the winding growths of unkempt majesty, your compass set aside, your map folded away, no sense of time or place excepting the moment you are in and the ground on which you stand? Following a star that glimmers brightly in the distance, this way is home.
You should take off your shoes. Unlace your heavy boots and rest your weary feet. They have tread many miles; they crave the touch of healing grounds upon their so[u]les. And you crave the touch of healing grounds upon your own, though you may not yet know it.
Come wander with me, within the lands that know no boundaries or construction other than that which comes to be through movements of the earth not makings of the man. Heal yourself. Drink deeply of this place. Close your eyes. Breathe in. Can you feel it repairing the strained sinews of your flesh, knitting back together that which has been frayed by human contact and social angst?
We are all small people in a world too big for meaning. We are all lost, and we are all searching. We are wanderers, do not forget the capacity you retain for movement.
Breathe in. Take your fill. And above all, remember to return.