I feel that there is nothing left for me, except to breathe in and out and enjoy this one small act.
The sun shining on my back, whilst the cool water streams around my feet; touching my soul.
The flowing creek speaks to me more than any person has.
I look at my reflection, wild hair, and old clothes. Instead of self-loathing, instead of worrying if I am cool enough or whether my clothes are just so – I simply am.
I breathe freely.
My mind is clear.
And yet, I do not venture out often.
It is as though returning to the built world brings with it a hazy mist; obscuring the memory of what really matters.
Nothing compares to the sweet sounds of the bush; the tranquillity.
It is a place that reflects and magnifies the beauty of everything within it.
In the bush, even I am beautiful.
Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers
Week of 02-20 through 02-26-2018