She climbed the steep hill with midday sun on her back.
The balmy breeze barely touching beads of sweat rolling over her weathered skin. Steps once lighter, swifter became methodically slower over ridged trails curved, carving Reimann Hypothesis on her vertical axis with graphite coal smudging thoughts into shadows which never touched.
She passed a Redgum Tree and paused to wipe the perspiration from the temple with her right hand remembering how the left hand slid in her father’s pocket, the trousers hung behind the bedroom door, taking two coins in the dim light of youth. How the next day water condensation from a bottle of cold cherry coke held with both hands seemed to wash rites of wrongs with the taste of sweet elixir coating her throat.
The road seemed to level and she reveled at the wild beauty of nature. The extraordinary perseverance of metamorphosis for a trace of trice to feel life's tempo under skin burrowed in the marrow. Alongside the thicket cacti stood tall with black opaque flowers phlegmatic surrealism mimicking ghosts rooted in the valley of death surrounded by all the riches.
She felt the apple bounce in her bag over the shoulder as she came upon a patch of filtered shade under a Velvet Ash Tree. The hike, although short in distance geographically; pivoted the mind and soul in kaleidoscopic tones. She took a bite of the apple, juices dripping from her chin, she didn’t bother to wipe, her hands felt unclean. Reclined against the trunk, eyes closed listened to the sounds ranging from nothing to everything alive and electrifying.
It had been three years since she had packed her car and moved away as far as the winds could carry in aimless wanderlust. There were no goodbyes, no tears, sentimentality seemed overrated, slashing every word with letter T, sharp across the middle in crucification. Heartbreak is always a glass half full but she had left all behind including the glass, carrying only suitcase of memories.
She took a precarious turn passing the last ridge gathering the last of strength and there it stood The Wisdom Tree solitary and majestic in magnificence.
She approached in awe and stood beneath it where countless others have stood enduring the strenuous journey, rediscovering themselves in the process leaving their notes of sage in a box under the tree.
The blood throbbed coursing her veins feeling the energy, light and universal love; Strength in weakness, endurance in resistance, lessons in rocks and knocks while the road curved with new hope each day.
Three words were scribbled on a piece of paper, folded once, twice, triad. She dropped it in the box.
Life is beautiful.
Written by Layla
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