There are times when I need to escape these four walls that wrap around me.
When the clamor and chaos of the city is not enough.
So I run away.
The wind doesn't play here.
It works. A serious magic of rearrangement.
I smell water and crisp grass.
Feel the heat of the sun on my back.
I stay to the path, follow a winding ridge along the coast.
The white noise of waves upon the shore rises above the wind in steady, rhythmic, beats.
As I descend into the treeline, I find wooden companions.
The old giants returned. But not all still stand.
Around me, brothers and sisters of the fallen pay tribute.
It is cool here. The sun only winks at me through dancing branches.
Beneath my feet, wood and leaves crack and crunch.
There is a smell of pine sap and damp earth. I am reminded of my youth.
The path is less familiar now. Was I was always coming here?
Was there ever a choice?
I step into the sand. My boots slip, but I am ready.
From here, I will go on forever.
© 2026 Geoffrey Gimse
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