These days, my favorite moments are spent pressing my body into soft grass and gazing up at the sun that beams down between hundreds of delicate, green leaves.
I never meant for it to become a ritual – almost instinctual in how I crave a certain spot, a certain tree to bring me peace and remind me that life can be soft if I allow my hard edges to melt away.
To stop resisting and simply just be. Sounds new-agey and a bit cliche, but it’s true. I’ve put up walls around myself for years and in ways I don’t know how to exist without them.
Even the trees feel like a shield from what I really need to crack open within myself. The resistance I feel just means I’m not ready quite yet to expose those parts of myself to the soft Earth beneath me.
And that’s okay. With nature and its wisdom there is no rush.
While I shield myself beneath the trees, I also find my mind wandering to a space that I go to every morning.
Back to a love that tugs in my chest as though guided by an invisible string. That aches in my bones and has never left and I don’t believe has any intention of leaving.
I carry it with me. Some mornings I wish he was with me beneath the trees; others, I feel tender, exposed and relish in the fact I’m alone.
What I wouldn’t give to just hold your hand.
I’ve been at war with myself, my feelings, my own truths for so long that it feels like the trees only know my true story.
For now, that’s enough – my story tucked away in the wind, chapters written in tree trunks with nature as its keeper.
One day, I will let my story expand beyond its home.
Let it float away and seep into the dew-soaked grass and etch a new chapter into wood.
Beneath the wisdom of trees, I have found my inspiration.