30 days wild, 25

The room half dark. Air still, heart beating. No sound on the landing.

It’s stopped, has it? Time, I mean. Stopped. 

Rain on the window, drops presaging a storm, the charge in your chest. You can feel the pulse of energy, a wave pushing before the turmoil.

It’s there, across the fields, getting closer, giant and untetherable. Sullen, unsparing, encroaching.

My God. My God. What a thing. What a thing it is. The wild. The very heart of the wild. And it rages. Look at it raging.

And behind me, in their separate spaces, happily engaged with their separate realities my children breathe and live and they do not know. 

And there it is, the place we inhabit. The most important place. Genuinely. All this, this, all that, barely at arm’s reach and we have to find somewhere, a human gap to inhabit and work in. Not to withdraw, or to hide, or retreat, well sometimes those things, but in reaction to it to carry on doing the living and loving. Alongside it. It is the space where love and reason live.

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