I want to be a tree.  I want to be a rotting old huge ancient tree that melts into the forest floor.  I don’t want to go to work. I don’t want to feel feelings.  I don’t want to be dissatisfied.

I want to let the rain from the treetops nudge me season after season to soft loam.  I want the woodpeckers to drum on me.  I want the tiny chipmunks to hide their morsels at my feet.  I’m tired of feelings and thoughts and chairs and fingers and shit and tears and worries and money and relationships and walking carefully and driving in traffic and and and.

What a funny thing to be here as human.  What a hilarious idea.

All I have now are the fragments of memory I’ve tried to burn in my brain of the path between the giants of wood.  Oh that I would be them.  I call on the Trees and the River and the Rocks today to be my home within.