Pine trees. A vast forest of Bristle-cones. Seemingly impenetrable without the barbed pines tearing one’s meat from bone. Their height impress that they are old. Born at the dawn of modern man. Beautiful gods. Took their time to tread into splendor.
The only way is through the trees. If not, life is a wasteland. Certainty makes home beyond. Is it a failure to lose my flesh today? Take a breath. Cuts Lungs. See the darkness between reaching boughs. Emptiness. Stillness. Truth at last. A tear wanders my cheek and falls to the ground. No call of recognition. Only perfection. Migration to home.
We exist in the space between trees. Alone, yet beautifully connected. I will step into this forest laughing with happiness and crying in sadness for us all. Strip my flesh of it’s importance and shred my muscles until I can no longer stand and fall home to the dirt. Look back at my tattered flesh decorating sonorous branches. Understand my illusion. A Prison no longer able to hold me. I was not me after all.