switzerland.

listen. read. feel. repeat.

sometimes my heart yearns for wonder. for that awestruck feeling of is this really real? is this hand tingling, feet floating, heart reverberating magic real? the essence of the unknown. the mystic power of laying in the tall grass of a desolate field, wind washing over tired and worn eyes, whispering hope into receptive ears, beckons me to return. go back to the childhood fantasy days of mudpie making, leaf porridge concocting hours of being content with

 n  o  w . 

take in the natural world that thrives about me, inhale deep the scent of the pine, the fragrance of winter. let the cool air flood my lungs with its life giving breath.

 a  w  e  .

leaves of gold brown and yellow blanket the earth, my eyes are directed upwards to the great arms of trees boasting proudly their bare and naked bones. nobly shouting the beauty they possess. oh to be a maple, stripped of that which clothes, which covers, delighted in what prevails. i remain an evergreen, clinging desperately to that which hides the hidden holes and scars, yet standing strong through the fiercest winter storm. and so my rambling makes little sense to but perhaps the few, however it's not understanding that is the aim of my writing, rather the process of writing, itself.

switzerland. daughter.