When speed is all we know
The places between are lost
Distances of Marathon
But an exit
On a highway
To an airport

How to recapture these spaces
In the color and the wind
Of stories told
Years old but vivid
The taste of salt
Bare foot in history

Too often we forget to look
Excavating down finds treasures
Digestion easily forgotten
Understanding expanses
Time’s long arrow
Feels short

So throw dirt in to the air
And follow where it wanders
Taste the grit on your hands
Feel the warmth
Sit. Breath
And listen

There exists place in all of us
So close we touch it now
A darkened grove of saplings
We’ve watched our lives grow tall

Though sun has never touched it
It's darkness doesn't fright
The trees surround a clearing
Grounding lest we fall

When we sit and listen
To the song of creaking wood
We see the stars still pierce the sky
Their distant fires call

For this space is not a dungeon
But a place to rest our soul
From the starkness of the daylight
And the lives in which we're small

You are no more special than any other snowflake that falls upon my hand.

Why then does your mere existence make being me such joy when I gaze upon you?

For I know you will surely melt away as all others do in my warmth.

I grasp harder hoping that my grip will freeze you in eternity marked upon my skin.

Tarwin Stroh-Spijer

I make stuff.

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