are dark and deep my dear and we are yet to leave them. I thought I had an idea of the grandeur of wilderness before we set out; you studied the maps. In the blazing summer mountain heat the shade provides refuge for revisiting maps but the northern hemispheres winter days shed only enough light for survival; together we look to the celestial bodies for guidance.
The destination isn’t the thing and neither is the journey; there is nowhere to go, nowhere to be but here and now. It’s a sad and beautiful world and a hand or two to hold can make the sad bits easier to traverse and the beautiful parts lovelier. As we awaken we become aware that we’ve been here before, perhaps even a billion years.
After the electrical signals in our minds stop the bleep blooping of dying batteries and our bodies are free to return to our mother, earth, let’s have the seeds of ourselves planted besides one another so that as long as the fair old sun comes up we can continue to grow side by side; I think being a tree could be as confusing as being a human, at least at first. Don’t wait for me, watch rather, because when springtime comes I’ll send you love letters perfumed with pollen on the furry knees of bees.
