forest talk.

As a child, I preferred the language of the forest. It spoke to me in a way that I understood much easier than the language of man.

I never had difficulty finding my sense of belonging among the wild things, tucked away in wild places.

I welcomed the quiet comfort it brought. The peace. The solitude. A freedom I found no where else. It shut out the noise of hurriedness. Of expectation. Of judgement. Of hurt. Of ridicule. Of rejection. Of things I didn’t understand.

I never feared the creatures who crossed my path, both large and small. It always felt like we had an unspoken understanding between us. Meeting the gaze of a wild animal was something magical. The fleeting moments of shared personal space was something to treasure, not fear. I would always say quietly, “Don’t go. Please stay with me awhile. I won’t hurt you.”

Where society was busy, loud, obnoxious, rude, judgemental, confusing, and scary, the forest was a sanctuary I could disappear in, getting lost on purpose.

I felt most alone in the crowded spaces that tried to tame my wild heart. That wouldn’t let me be me. That threw me in boxes I didn’t belong in. That trapped me and tried to break me.

Want to know me?

Want to love me?

Leave me wild.

Leave me be.

Want to feel freedom of a different kind?

Follow me into the forest.

Under the pines.

Among the wild things.