I took a walk through Forsyth Park, listening to Nirvana’s “Heart Shaped Box.” I lit a cigarette and stopped to tie my boots. I switched over to menthol this time, bad choice. My boots weighed heavy and I felt beads of perspiration cascading down my back.
I felt the rubber press against the skin around my ankles, and I sooner felt the warm reminiscence of blood filling the inside of my boots.
Pass the tennis courts.
Pass the fountain.
I found a tree with prepubescent flowers. A large tree old and quite, with branches that canopied overhead. I took space underneath that tree and found relief when I took my boots off. I felt the dew of the grass lick my wounds and the iron from the Earth filling my lungs.
I took my headphones off so I could lay against the tree, residue of pancake makeup soiling the outside of my ear buds.
I laid flat; feeling small legs crawling over my arm and hearing the conversation of birds. How I wish I was a bird so I could fly far away from here. I would go to Brazil, Argentina, Italy, Egypt, Greece.
I laid in silence for a long time mesmerized by the faint hint of light coming through the branches. Comatosed, and strung to an IV of wilted flowers and loose branches I truly felt God’s presence. I felt “It” in my soul, in my bones, in my heart. I felt mother’s arms wrapped around me, and I tasted the dew lingering in the air.
I watched as the flower petals slowly unfolded; not yet a woman; not in full bloom; not yet. I dozed for a while longer and fell through the Earth further and further until there was nothing left. I broke through the roots and the dirt and found a treasure I had been searching for since I was seven. I found clarity. I felt as though I was becoming that faint light through the branches, iridescently clear and transparent. I found God in the trees.