Poetry
The dry seasons
when the earth is parched
and the ground wears its age.
The seasons of bloom
and glory,
color and magnitude.
The seasons of desperate cold
when life is dormant
and brittle winds catch the breath.
The seasons of melancholic romance
fading colors, slower paces
and softer light.
It is all wilderness.
Wild country.
Land and life with no boundary
no gatekeeping.
The beauty is in the boundlessness
the winding, untamed paths
the hidden beauties
the secret dangers.
The rich wildness of the natural world
and its voracity for life,
the wildness of life itself,
that weathers all its seasons—
the wildness is its beauty.
—Whitney
Photo by Elijah Hiett on Unsplash