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
I'm finally settling back into my life after my furthest adventure, and with rich experiences, it’s the little things of the journey that stick with you every day. The things that you don’t notice sneak into your frequently visited memories. Like the man in the old town of Siem Reap, at night sat far away from the busy tourist stalls, his gentle warm light glowing the much darker side alley. His dog, and how vicious he should have been by looks, but what a softie he was. How we sat on his lounging sofa on the street, he brought me so many rings to try, all hid beautiful own silver things. And then, when I tired one on that was a little too small- the way he gently took my hand and pushed back the skin on my knuckle toward my wrist, and how essay the ring came off when he did. He didn’t know why more people didn’t know that trick, and how everyone was taking their rings off a little bit wrong. And now, when I take off the ring that always sits a little tight below my knuckle, the night pops up to me. For a moment, I go back along the still warm night in Cambodia, I sit with that man and I take his little lesson.
Tonight a storm rolls in.
I’m stuck in mud, buried for the night.
It’s getting late, and the storm settles in to the air. A steady rhythm comes to the sounds that surround my van. Connie is protecting me entirely, I am not only safe from the rain and the cold but I am cosy in it, snuggled down under the noise of the rain and wind, sunken deep into my shelter.
I always enjoy stepping out the next morning and seeing what changes the weather will have done to the place I fell asleep in. Shifted trees, fallen branches, but always the smell of fresh air. Its wetness drops to the bottom of my lungs, and that feeling of life on my skin stays with me all day.
I'm glad to sleep in the storm tonight.
