There is history in everything that surrounds me, I guess.
But here, I have no history.
I prefer the present.
Moments drowned by nature.
A swift breeze, the sound of water over rock,
lazy locusts and croaking frogs.
If I listen closely, I can even hear the trees whispering.
They tell me softly, sweetly, to leave my hurried life and live among them.
It’s not hard to find solace in their gentle persuasions.
The bird song scolds me for reflecting on my city life…
for allowing it to crowd my mind in such an open space.
Cities do not give humans room to move freely
any more than thoughts of cities leave the mind room to think freely.
I push the thoughts away again.
Instead, I want to penetrate this space with my body,
Dip my hands deep within this earth and play among the roots.
I want to fold into the trees and trade skin for skin.
And, lastly, I wish to relinquish all that I am, melt into the water, and drift away.
Dixie's Road Trip 