Contemplating sanity, you steel yourself
You step over the edge
Outside
Out here the air is crisp
It sets a fire in your belly
The wind caresses your cold face and the sun emits a cool glimmering luminescence
Like it isn’t quite ready to embark on its daily journey
Out here, it’s quiet
The forest has a slight mischief to it
Like at any moment one of its people could spring onto the path
Or one of its toes could nip at yours
Out here you can think
But you mostly drum along to the sound of your footfalls on the semi-solid surface
This daily entering into the wood is somewhat of a ritual for you
As if your journey will somehow enlighten you
As if you will, at some point, make sense of it all
As if you will somehow begin to understand the rustling of the trees, the language of the wood
Out here you create yourself
You toil in the forge of the wood
This beaten path, your hammer
Your body, the tempered steel
Seeking to replicate what is rare
And to create what is unimaginable