In the Wilderness

In the wilderness,
in the silence,
in the space between
civilization and desperation,
chasing validation;
It just makes you want to scream
sometimes.

The rush of worry and repetition
I’ve got a premonition
that it leads to a condition
of permanent impermanence,
and loss of importance.

I fear apathy and maybe that fear finds its way in
to my soul sometimes, and the need to be constantly
in motion, ignoring emotions
or overwhelmed, there’s no middle ground
in the battle for my soul on the battleground of day in
and day out.

I’m fascinated by liminal spaces,
the ones where the time is
to be still and imagine what all could happen
in the future and the past, and now.

Curled up on the moss in in the sun
bundled in layers of clothes and blankets,
I had time to reflect, and to think, and to ponder
whether I’d have time to wonder
in the coming months.

I haven’t had time to pick up a brush since then,
and the desire is building up inside me,
pushing on my extremities,
trying to get out my fingers and into art.

So I perched on a rock, my toes just out of the surf,
and I scooped up water into a crack and,
balancing paints on one knee and sketchbook on the other,
I put the lake and trees and skies to paper.

I tried to capture the sound of the whispering grasses
passing beneath as we slice through still water;

Or the ripples that shake through the surface
of smooth reflections of clouds and canopy.

Or weightlessness, floating
as the sun warmed my face.

I tried to bottle sunlight glinting off the lake
and the breath of life in the trees,

Tried to straighten my scattered thoughts
as they floated aimlessly.

I let my mind calm
as my hands grew cold
with the oncoming night.
I huddled in blankets and
watched the sun sink
until its vibrant hue
held the horizon in silhouette.

I looked up at the stars
through a veil of sleep and silence
and knew I could never create
anything half as glorious.