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The Fountain of A Youth

 Much of my life in recent years has been spent relearning the joys of childhood, rediscovering some of its magic with a new appreciation and perspective offered by the trials of adulthood. 

Pondering on the topic, I am reminded of a period of life where the magic I experienced was theoretical, a fantasy I could escape to, hidden away in my loft away from my trauma. It was odd, being so in tune with the magic I knew existed but being so removed from it. But it was a necessary thing, as the perspective it now lends strengthens the force of the wonder I can now feel.

It's always been found in little things, like the excitement of coming home from the library with a stack of new books to read, pulling myself away from a book only to be drawn back moments later; it's in the wind in the treetops, in sun on the water, in the shadows of the woods at sunset. It's in the echo of sadness I feel as I dance in the rain, and in the sly quiet of the house in the middle of the night.

It is, in essence, what calls me into the wild, convincing me I could simply step into the air and be carried away by the wind, or dash into the woods and become part of the trees, as if I'd been born one.

The earth haunts my restless soul,

Calls me;

To still,

To freeze,

Under the weight of the snow as it covers me;

To surrender,

Under the surface of the ocean's skin:

To float,

To fly,

Under the gaze of the moon, within the earth's breath:

Clouds, weightless-

To collapse,

Under the body of the earth

To disappear

Into the firmament 

Into the beginning of all life:

To rest;

To live;

To return.

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