Take me away
to the willows,
let their tendrils whisper their song
in the icy breeze.

To where each step
is guided
by muted voices
in the treetops.

Where acceptance
is carried in birdsong
and peace
in the blossoms.

Where fungi feasting
on the bones of the
sacrificed
is celebrated.

Let dew-laden blades
soak my soles
as I wander
barefoot
in the shade.

For the world man constructed
is not my home.

I’m lonely.

This is a world that often keeps women restrained and restricted, expected to conform and perform the role set before her.

And yet, the life I live is one I chose.

I chose to move to a new place, to marry, to have a child. And I chose to stay at home, to care for my child. All eager choices — opportunities I was blessed with, milestones I will always be grateful for.

I am quite disconnected from the outside world. Of course, I am aware of global politics and news which makes headlines, but in terms of new coffee shops in my local area or where my school friends work now, I’m oblivious.

Yet, while part of me resents a system which creates this isolation, I notice that the more I remove myself from the world, the more I am pulled back to the earth.

I feel blessed by the buzzing of a bumblebee, of the welcome warmth of sunlight on skin in the cool March air — things I would scarcely notice before my life became so quiet, so slow.

I am under no illusion — I know this season will not last forever. One day my world will widen again, my days will fill with urgency, and this quiet will become something I remember rather than inhabit.

If I must be alone for a while, I can at least learn to listen.

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