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There is something about a double entendre, about pinning someone down. About sloppy guitar chords and leaky pipes. About being out in a boat, rowing 3 miles to get there. About things that go missing, crows you found out later were the thieves. On an island so remote, you didn’t see another person all week. Bathed naked in the water every morning. Cooked on a fire you built yourself, kept burning all through the night. Skipped stones, saw water ripple like its own echo. Named new constellations, fell asleep in that different dark, the kind that only comes down in wild places. Where leaves rot back into soil. No one warns you, there is a special peace to be had. Like a secrets trees keep, knotted in old roots. The way your skin smells after sleeping in dirt, washing without soap. The way your hair gathers moss and smoke. How in just a few days, you start to hear differently, sounds of animals and land and water and air. And it may be you never wanted this, were comfortable and happy in the city, in a house, listening to music through headphones. It may be that something sent you out or… reeled you back in.
