Your trees stood like a curtain wall as we circled through whispering trails that took us back to your treaded arches, places others had been and marked. Our path circled further inward each time: trees’ leaves spoke softly to us and dirt rode on the backs of gently diving wind. The smell of soil in our soles that followed us on our trail meant here, now.

Rocks caught our toes, moments we lurched forward, still circling.

We didn’t quite want the safety of the trees that lined our forest, our mothers waiting back for us. Didn’t quite want to leave this circling, this thing we called lost, this green kingdom.