SWORDFERN
Rooted, I used to think.

Profile - Archive- RSS
Notes - Email - Diaryland

Lightning Lakes - Monday, Sept. 21, 2020
Autumn - Thursday, Sept. 17, 2020
I am loved. - Tuesday, Sept. 15, 2020
The Moths - Friday, Sept. 11, 2020
The Chief - Tuesday, Sept. 01, 2020


Tuesday, Sept. 15, 2020 @ 4:38 pm
I am loved.



I catch myself in moments of stress. Take a deep breath. Repeat to myself:

I am loved.

In the alpine, we sit among the quivering feathered anemone heads. The leaves of the blueberry shrubs turning vermilion at their edges. A tiny black ant heaves a crumb from my sandwich above its head and carries the prize off to its den.

A thick layer of smoke in the valley below. We remain high as long as possible, taking deep breaths of the clean juniper-scented air.

I am loved.

He leads me down a path of swordferns and salal into the thermal spa. If there are others around, I don’t notice them. We entangle our bodies while we float in the hot water. We stand with our backs pressed together under the cold waterfall. We rest together on damp towels in an aerie surrounded by cedar trees. Our bodies wet and the air resinous.

I am loved.

We paddle under the stars on a small, still lake in the forest. A salamander floats on the surface, and I cup my hand, loosening my fingers to strain the water. The salamander rests in my hand, miniature brown toes and primordial head shifting slowly in confusion. We paddle along the shoreline, where cedar boughs hang heavily just above the water surface. Bats flit out and skim against the surface of the lake. The night is silent but for the water that drips from my paddle between each stroke.

I am loved.


Roots | Shoots