Voice.

[witchscauldron]

When I lived at home still, there was me and my fields. There was something vast about the space - a sort of echoing emptiness that I despised and loved at the same time. I use to sing into that void to hear my voice echo against the trees and the grass, and then vanish off into the clouds. It was lonely, sometimes, but it was mine. I felt free - I could sing, I could howl, I could shout or scream or wail. I felt like I could walk off and be me, and there was no-one else to worry about. I used my Voice just for me, in those days.

I don't really use my voice, let alone my Voice, anymore. I sing, sometimes...but just around the house. It's never any sort of exhultation to the Gods anymore, to the Earth and the Sky for the sheer joy of it. I don't howl anymore. I'd like to. I'm afraid to disturb the multiple neighbours around me. I don't have a vast empty space anymore. I have a finite apartment, and too much humanity around me. There's nowhere to go anymore.

I miss my golden fields, and the russet in the trees in the sunset. I miss the way the clouds used to hang low over the fields, making me feel as if the sky was a ceiling draped in blue-grey. I miss my moonlit winter walks and giving Voice to the wolf, within and without. I crave a long walk in falling leaves. I crave picking Mutsu apples, making applesauce, drinking hot cider. I miss sitting on the steps with my Calico. I miss fireflies. I miss total darkness.

Maybe I'll go visit my Mom for a little while, and spend some time alone with myself. I don't know. I don't know anything today at all. I feel dead.

Comments

[rogue1717.livejournal.com]

Sounds like you need a vacation away from the "city" Morg.