to step and sleep here

zane in the backseat calling out the turns and the miles
as we all joke/laugh about the weasel with prey in its mouth
scrambling across the road
(and how i missed it all because i was shoe gazing – looking at my sandals as i was taking them off)
_______
a small chunk-of-energy bite
that i leave on forest floor
as offering/asking permission
to step and sleep here
_______
singing a song about how every cell in our bodies is joyful and happy
as the ouch of a pre-migraine headach arrows my skull
and the ache that happens in my hip/leg is happening
and there is an overall sort of exhaustion instead of zest
while i wish i wouldn’t have spraed the bug repellent on because it is too sweet with too much vanilla
but at least it offsets the nasty sour milk smell of the blanket i dug out of the stash in the office closet that i wrap myself in
but nonetheless
i know i am heart-happy
to be here
_______

how the forest gives
way to a field and this
is where the silver-gold pre-sunset glow
lays itself down

_______
ok, this is fucking cool i say outloud to myself
as i walk across the swinging bridge spanning the slow movement of the iowa river waters
to my tent tucked up in the woods which is what/where i will call home 
for the next three days/nights
_______
the owl hooting from its branch perch as i write this
and how i love the familiarness (yet still rare) of this sound 
meaing: i’m so lucky to live where i do