You have mastered the art of packing distance;
folding it into all the infinitesimal spaces between the sleeping bag, the camp stove, the compass, the knife, and the camera.
You carry it in your palms,
maps etched into your skin that no one else has conquered,
each freckle a testament to the time you’ve spent walking with the sun.
You like to wear the miles you’ve wandered.
You unfold them on the dinning room table
lay them out like souvenirs
just to see her smile.
You pass them around the campfire;
well worn and fondly remembered,
they help keep the fire burning
keep you looking for the next adventure.
Framed panorama treelines declare your love of the wild and all it’s well hidden secrets.
Secrets that it whispers to you in sunrises and starlight,
secrets smoldering beneath the smoke of tribal revelry;
in the flames that make your heart go feral and sing the sounds of wolf calls and waves.
The west coast has carved herself into your very bones.
Oh how wild a beast she is;
you know better than to try and tame her
and so you seek
the waves and the mountain tops
the canyons and cliff sides
the sunsets and the shooting stars
Your laughter is the sound of the wild.
Your scars and bruises paint echoes of traversed landscapes across your body
You are being sculpted by the hands of God and painted by Mother Nature’s touch.
Your soul holds the same majesty as mountains
When you breath; can you feel forests grow in your ribcage?
When you dance; do you feel like a rainstorm?
When you live; do you feel wondrous?
Because you are a collage of all the wonders you have most loved,
and you would leave even the ocean in awe.