Maybe you were never actually lonely for other people. All along, maybe you were lonely for the earth.

This something sparked on a little island off the rocky coast of Maine would grow from a twinge to a hunger to a need you would spend years, a decade, a lifetime pursuing.

In reaching for stone, wood, water, and feather, I found my own edges softening, scars fading.

Was I hiding from reality, on the outside looking in? Or, was I living my reality, on the outside looking out?

I was starting to realize that just living simply, even deliberately, is not going wild.

Do you belong to the city or the wilds? Are you human or animal? Are you sane or lunatic? Both? Neither? Yes.

Sometimes, I am the beast in the darkness. Sometimes, I am the ghost.

Those times in life when a mask falls away and everything makes sense, even if just for a moment, you pay attention. Sometimes they involve an actual blindfold.

That little owl with a call as steady as my heartbeat was telling anyone who would listen, ‘I am here.’ We were listening. We’re listening still.