The Stale Soul

I sat in some space
of my cherished home
attempting to relax
to melt like wax the
troubles
the day has brought.
It does not work.

The hearth in my chest has gone a bit too cold.

Something unidentified
unwanted
presses down on my chest
suffocating me
bit by bit
through each deep breath I try to take.

I go into the wild.

Behold the cerulean vastness
that exists within a drop of water
celebrating slowness and fastness
and the sonder of the microbial world.

Behold the sharpened pines
piercing the air with their needle scent
staying constant through the times
yet ever changing, housing, falling, twisting.

I go into the wild 
to stoke my inner hearth
and be healed.