Where the Ground Holds Me

There are places that speak without words.

They don’t ask who you are.

They don’t expect anything.

They just hold you.

I’ve felt it in wild fields.

In wind-chapped coastal paths.

In pine-scented quiet where the trees seem older than time.

The land doesn’t rush you.

It waits, without condition.

It mirrors your breath when you’re ready to slow down.

Sometimes I walk just to listen.

Not to the birdsong or the wind—but to the feeling of my own edges softening.

The pull of gravity reminding me I belong here.

We forget, in this world, what it feels like to be rooted.

To be part of something that doesn’t need fixing.

To feel held by something vast, ancient, and true.

But the land remembers.

And when I remember with it, something in me begins to heal.