I was comfortable here.
Uncomfortably so.
It will be a while before I feel at ease again.
Can find my way around in the dark of early morning.
Or along an open hillside in a white out of winter.
Knowing when and where the sun will rise.
The exact date to listen for the arrival and departure of the song birds
And know upon which tree branch they will hold tight against the spring winds.

Familiarity is a crutch
We grasp onto in our blindness.

Moving ahead
To where?
Do you know
Or are you as blind as me?

Being left
Being open
Moving on
Pushed away from the warm dark moist cocoon,
Finding yourself cold and exposed in the wind.
Outreached arms flailing,
After being so safely tucked within the womb
Of the mountain
Which I cannot say has nurtured me
But let me be.
Allows even this metaphorical birthing
This separation
To become my choice.

I await the call of the land
Forever listening for its soft voice
Like wind on the back of my neck
Through my graying hair, through the drying leaves
Or the vibration beneath my bare feet
Firmly standing upon fertile soil
Telling me I belong