The sudden urge to go be among the trees, to feel the mud and grass touching the soles of your feet, to breathe in deep and well the damp fresh air, to sit quiet and do nothing for hours. To paint. To write. Feel the pressure of ink on paper with each line. To flip through a book just to smell the pages. To feel…

There is a place inside where all my yearnings go hide… When I’m not listening, not paying attention. When they have gone unheard for too long. So I’ve decided I’m gonna go looking for them. I’m gonna find each longing, every soft, aching spot in the bones. Each howl trapped in the chest. Every long forgotten cry of the soul. And I’m gonna set it…