The Wild.

A very yellow house, sitting high on the hill.
In the middle of the wild.
I tend to the wild enough most years so that it does not reach out and grab my ankles, or tear down my very yellow house high on the hill. You can never tame it anyway, it will be here long long after all of us are gone.

She, my very yellow house, had weathered many seasons. Then she traveled by sea, to come to perch on her foundations. There, the years have treated her not as kindly, but protected from the fiercest winds, she has survived very well.
The wild protects us from the sun.

Recently, there were great gaping holes in the wild. Where things that are now gone, once were.
But the wild, it has quickly grasped the opportunity, to finally see the sun.
There is an Eagle tree out in the front, battles rage in the sky. Great swooping arcs, with the accompanying cries.
Mint, fragrant in the warm summer evening is creeping out from between the blackberry brambles. Small creatures run in the bush behind where I cut the branches.
Larger creatures, gray and furtive, watch me cook dinner on the firepit in the backyard.
In my very yellow house that sits on the hill. The long shadows of late afternoon bring the wild even closer- or so it seems.
When evening comes, the wind will shift, and the breeze will be warm rolling down the hill. I will watch for the bats that take over the sky at night.
I will wake up and share the quiet morning with the birds and the black jaguar who fantasizes that he is a hunter.

And I will try to hold this close to me in the coming years. I will take the wild and its lessons with me. I will be renewed. I will keep reaching for the sun. I will withstand many more seasons.
I am also a force of nature.