The wild does not ask for anything
but presence.
It does not shrink to fit me—
it expands,
and in doing so,
invites me to expand too.
I walk among its quiet kings:
ancient trees,
towering and tender,
arms outstretched like elders
blessing my return.
The air is fuller here.
Every inhale tastes of pine,
of soil,
of stories I cannot name
but feel
in the stillness.
The river sings in a language
older than memory.
The mountains stand like gods
carved by time and storm,
teaching me reverence
without a single word.
I am so small here—
so gloriously small—
and somehow,
that makes me feel infinite.
I give thanks with every step,
each footfall a prayer
for the gift of this untouched grace.
For the sky that opens
and the earth that holds.
For the knowing
that I am part of this.
Not apart from it.
The wilderness
loves me back
without question,
without condition.
And I,
grateful beyond language,
offer the only thing
I have to give:
my awe.
