Wild Writing 6/100

You don’t know who you are

when you take away the job, the car, the To Dos and awards

But, that is not entirely true

You feel most yourself when you’re walking along a high sierra trail,

one boot and then the next,

step after step,

sweat running down the bridge of your nose,

the sun so close like a devil on your shoulder.

Or how about when you get to sit outside on the porch at night

with the cool crisp air of sage and pine and eucalyptus around you

the stars cold pinpricks of light twinkling

the sky dark and pure

the moon just rising over the mountain.

You realize you feel most yourself when you turn off all the incoming

The media, newspaper, scrolling, posting, memes and videos

When you can be quiet enough to hear your own breath,

to remember to pick up a pen, to putter around the house,

Sorting through things that in your ungrounded flight you forgot about

Somehow glanced over and passed,

the way we stop noticing a broken window,

But some part of us is always, always unsettled.

You wonder how long it’s worth keeping the fabric for the sewing projects

And if you’ll ever really finish that online class about collage

But the thing is,

you’re always needing something to bounce your brain off of,

something to respond to and shift and play with

The way moths are drawn to the light of the moon.

(Prompt is from David Whyte's poem Tilicho Lake. I am creating a timed piece of wild writing every day for 100 days for this year’s 100 Day Project.)