Bring it Home

My chest wrings its muscles in angst, my eyes are flecked with worried wet and it's all I can do to tame it, hold it back, rein it in until I get there. I do all the right things: I shoulder check, signal, calmly pull into my spot with my jaw flexed into a peace-forced half-smile while my muscles twitch with emotional overload.

Collecting myself, adjusting the tongue of my shoes, I set my eyes on the path ahead and take names. One step to start, two to keep me going, and then it's no turning back. Not for a while. Not until I'm finished pouring myself out, fertilizing the forest with my heart.

A burn pile's smoke pulls my gaze to the right, interrupting my rhythmic breath for a moment while I draw it slowly in and up! An eagle! Chest out and proud. I lift my own in hopes that I too might be recognized as supreme and then a second later I trip on a root and instead, promptly remember my humility.

My humble feet take me to places in my heart that not even flight could bring.

I run and I run and I run and when I find what I'm looking for, I don't stop and turn around. No. I hold it close. I let it in and turn it 'round until it warms and molds to who I am, becoming a part of me, and then I carry it home.

It's a bit heavier, but I'm a bit stronger. So it all evens out.