December 29, 2020
I have spent a long time wandering through the woods. The trees which stand tall overhead, casting shadows long as I can see, provide a comfort completely undiscoverable elsewhere. The breeze that slips its slender soul through the planted trunks creates murmurs indecipherable to my untrained ear but I recognize its familiar grace. As the breeze continues, life erupts with leaves dancing above that displaces droplets of water left from the morning dew, dousing my neck in the stunning rush of cold water.
I feel accepted by the woods. The trees sway with the wind, the birds chirp at the sky, and the creeks flow with the forest floor. What makes up the landscape has lived harmoniously for thousands of years, and will continue this existence for a hundred more after I am gone. There is no question of the role I will play in the life of the sturdy redwood towering over me. My birth and subsequent death will be little more than a moment. As much as I might try to influence the progression of life, I am powerless to the strength of nature.
I am no longer in the woods. The murmurs remain, my surroundings stand tall, and my neck is still doused. No longer do the murmurs hide behind a veil of misunderstanding, and the massive structures that surround me change by the day. It is no longer possible for my life to be obscured by the natural strength of an ancient oak. My life holds immense influence and consequence, each interaction swaying the lives of those around me.
I miss the comfort of the woods. Where my thoughts had no meaning, and my actions had no influence. I fear that my existence may produce negativity and destruction. Constantly, I find my mind dwelling on the blunders of my over-cautious brain. I wish I were unafraid of my impact, where the fragility of the human spirit remained a hidden trait.
And so I continue to wander, hoping to one day find myself back in the woods where my life seemed so simple.