Forging paths through waves of grass, waist high and shimmering silver, carpeted in white clover. I've been claimed by the cottonwoods and the star flowers. The sun dappled path in the evening. The leaves burnished translucent in the breeze. The smooth stones, a comfort in my hand. This place has become joined with me, and its voice has burrowed into my bones, and more and more these days I feel it pulling me in, deeper and deeper until I can't hear anything else. I cherish this place.
I took you there , and the sun burned red as it sunk below the horizon. Through the green doorway. The soft way. The oldest oak tree, guarding us. I was cloaked in green. I could have sunk into the earth and become the undergrowth. Portals and waiting for the animals to arrive. The world glistened in deep greens and blues, silver and periwinkle, I felt myself deep in some kind of prayer, all for the love of beauty and for that moment to never end. For compassion. How is it, I wonder, that compassion burns like fire in my heart? When it's given, and received. A dagger. So beautiful it feels like death. I don't think death happens once for us. It happens over and over again each time the earth breaks us open.
The fireflies came out, one by one.
"How can this not be magic." You said. I was telling myself the same thing.
I imagined the trees as sentinels. The pine tree forest a doorway in and out. I showed you the doorway. The doorway that claimed me. I felt myself melt into the night. I felt myself reflected as if in a mirror.
I am so profoundly sad. I feel so much. And too much. This is how I exist though. I transform everything in the images I conjure and so they become real. I walk the ground and feel each footstep tell the truth. I name the light corridors. I find the most light filled places. I find giants in trees. I tell stories about them. The grass is a blanket of lace. I believe in magic. I can't unsee what I've seen.
I am so profoundly sad, so in love, so broken hearted. I can't remember a time when life didn't have this affect on me. The fabric of being alive, strong, fragile, never gentle. Subtle. Never without pain. The roughest of silks. The finest of burlap.
And so I'll walk in the fields of fireflies. Find solace in the claiming. Find the portals every night and remember when kindness both saved and broke my heart into a million pieces. I did not know it would hurt this much.
In this summer of some of the most excruciating pain I have ever felt, the summer I was brought to my knees. Except now I can't run like I used to. Now, I have to look at it all and face the chasms of my heart.
I've been claimed. I surrender.