The trees speak in a lattice--roots that tangle around your ankles. Roots that are a stairway from the human to the wild. I go into the forest to breathe. Not because there's more air but because there's more earth on which to ground my body, slow the frantic bellows of my lungs. In the forest the underworld is alive and rising. Love and grief are the same and moss grows thick, wet with dew and tears.

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