I want to run as fast and as far as my weak legs will take me.
I want to disappear into the wilds of Death Valley, where there is no metric by which to be measured, only the unrelenting, unforgiving terrain.
I want to fly across Kansas wheat fields, with the force of the wind before me pushing over the thin stalks.
I want to soar over the Pacific Ocean and swirl the cold water with my fingertips, sending waves crashing ashore.
I want to lie flat in a bed of conifer needles in a sequoia forest full of giants and listen to the trees whisper their secrets to each other.
I want to hear the hoot owl with it’s low “hoo-hoo-hoo” questioning the slow dusk.
I want to bury myself in the rich, damp earth, where no one can see me, because worms don’t have eyes.
I want to breathe in the dank loam and feel it fill me up as my body turns into compost and seeds sprout up out of me.
I want my seeds to fly across the sky and land in the hard soil of the desert and I will soak up the sparse rain.
I want to take root in that pitiless ground, and my stem will push through and embrace the sky.