Week two begins with another primitive portrait. Feeling the need to run quietly through deep forests and breathe deeply of pine and loamy forest soil. To carve a mark into ancient trees and explore cliffside caves. To paint my face and arms. To go barefoot.
When I was young, we always lived near a forest. I had the richest of childhoods in this way! There wasn't a house we lived in where we couldn't run straight out of the back door and into the woods. And we did. My sister and I would practically live in the woods from breakfast until dusk, with the occasional break for lunch. We built huts from fallen tree limbs, gathered rocks to mark the edges of our village, climbed tall trees to scout for enemies. All summer we lived in the woods. We turned deeply brown and our feet became calloused and hardy. Our arms and legs were covered in bug bites and scrapes; our hair tangled and wild until forced to comb it out by parents who could not appreciate our lack of concern for such things.
Our imaginations ruled the entirety of each day, and we felt completely present. It was bliss! It is the greatest gift to be able to pause on a busy day like this one, close my eyes and be transported within minutes to this halcyon time in my life. I can smell the woods, feel the tree bark and see the sun twinkling through the tree canopy above.
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