Wild Writing 9/100

Let the sun rays flit over your body and

warm each and every cell of your skin

There is a thawing,

a way that you can feel something unlocking

and giving way to who you are now that you weren’t before

You actually want to hold the baby

You can find laughter so deep it makes your eyes tear up

You can sit still, and when you get into bed at night

you can absolutely fall asleep

It’s worth showering now

And your appetite is back, full swing

Oh, and you can cook again

You care to cut up zucchini and onion and garlic

and let them sizzle and simmer in a pot of chili

a thick and hearty meal that will sustain you for days

You take a bowl outside and sit on the porch

and watch the rain clouds blowing in from the west

Up the valley, covering the mountains next to your home

obscuring the summit

of a hike you hadn’t done in a year,

but just did again last week

It kicked your ass both times, but each time

the deep satisfaction of reaching the top was worth all the 

cursing and thigh burning, blitzing steps, 

2 hours of uphill climbing switch-backs

on a winding trail overgrown with sage

Your body sweeping through these plants and leaving

the most delicious and fresh potpourri of scent all around you

As you walk, you know,

there will never be a way to match the deep inhale of wet California dirt and sagebrush

and you will always ache for that smell

(“Inhale/pause/exhale/melt” How To Survive In Harsh Times by @marybethbonfiglio. I am creating a timed piece of wild writing every day for 100 days for this year’s 100 Day Project.)