The kind of world we live inis fraughtwith where and when the next outbreakwill occur,which passenger aircraftthe missile will hit,whether the children will be freedfrom their cagesto go find their mothers and fathers, if they can,and what we’ll all do next,after the last iceberg has meltedinto the waters that lap against our e-car doors.
The kind of world we live infeels as though it’s reaching a pitch,and here I sit,cinching up the hiking bootsfor another 40-day wilderness trek,another roundof walking over rock,talking to trees,and hoping for blessed nothing to happenwhile I’m out there alone.
The world is on your shoulders,it’s in your backpack,which just happens to get lighter and lighterthe farther you go,the deeper you delve into these woods,the closer you cometo losing it allfor loveof the kind of world we live in,
fasting on the rootsand berries of a wild hope.