by Alana Cook
Forget the winters.
Recall the years you got heavily
into Meditation, studied;
“A Course in Miracles”.
Thought you could walk on water,
Had an awakening, didn’t you sweetie?
Everything was heaven.
A synchronistic symphony.
You rose to such searing heights
and succumbed to the sun. Heavy.
And we all know what comes after…
Not the sweet full moons, not the succour
of honeysuckle darling!
After, you paddle into the knot
of trees, stars. Late at night you dream
of wolves brushing past your tent.
And feel yourself become something
Yes you, wild river, flood of stars,
bramble of words lost and found,
lost and found. Returning, circling.
Losing your mind to men, ideas,
words and the wilderness.
Emerging with a few scars
with the stamina to stay and find
that windswept, star studded joy.
After you climb that goddamn mountain
for four days. After you walk 367 km.
— from Juniper Volume 1, Issue 1