2

I had these sticky fingers I was trying to lick clean on a soil, rock and earthen pathway shaded by a canopy of green. I was humming along to a country tune, taking in natural beauty that has a way of reminding me I can be that way too.

It was all melted chocolate on my fingertips, the corners of my mouth and coating the whites of my teeth. My face was bare, my hair unbrushed and I never felt more alive. I find little pieces of myself scattered along the way, like hidden trinkets glimmering in the slivers of sunlight that make it through the fronds of the forest.

I was licking chocolate off my fingers, relishing in the childlike moment, reveling in the fact that nothing was more important than me just Being in this place in this moment. I climbed up sun-kissed rocks, toasted under the pads of my fingers even so early in the morning. And as my heartbeats became double time and my breathing became more staccato, I sat with my knees pulled to my chest to see mountains rising up in the distance like giant sea serpents cresting on the waves. Every stone shone dusty-red, mossy covered patches smattering the bases and merging with their camel hide toned ridges, the trees rising so tall and majestic before their peaks disappeared into a layer of smoke-y foggen barrier in the sky.

I sit for seconds…minutes…hours…I get lost here and it’s the most comfort I can find. Leisurely getting lost I find new parts of myself on every trampled trail.

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