away from the sun.

At night, I run out from the house barefoot. I feel the cooling grass under my feet, slightly wet and dewy from the afternoon rains. I feel the damp soil of the earth beneath me, curling in between my toes. I feel rooted then, in this moment, with just me and the moon and the damp, damp earth. I imagine myself cocooned within a tree, wrapped in wispy twigs and the brittle old bark. Encased in the solid oak trunk, feeling more condensed as the number of rings of bark increases with age. The roots, thick and branching, reaching into the cooling earth for some relief from the balmy air of the night. I am bundled, nestled, held, nurtured -- away from the world in this one moment to myself. I can think clearly, I can see clearly, and I can feel without any boundaries. I often think I see the world through different eyes. When I see the stark oak in the expansive field, I do not imagine running freely in the grass. I picture myself as old as the tree, standing still and silent, through storm and tempest, through mother nature's wistful cries, through mother earth's sorrowful trembles. I am rooted, bound, and an innate part of the wondrous world.

The leaves, both green and gold, are reaching towards the sun, but I, I am always looking away from the sun. I much prefer the inside of my sturdy tree, cool and calm and collected.