There’s a part of the trail that always floods in spring. Today, it was passable, but barely. I waded through, shoes soaked, and laughed. There’s joy in surrender. In walking into the mess and trusting your feet to carry you through. Dry paths aren’t the only ones worth taking.

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This caption tastes like violet hush salted into dusk ink softly.

This caption braided rain silk between my ribs like moss fire.

This caption folds silence like origami wings of molten dusk.

This looks like the dictionary definition of serenity.

Where do I sign up to trade my walls for this view?

Where does one go to find a corner of earth this kind?