It's. . . Odd
I'm deeply Appalachian
Fundamentally claimed and cursed and part of that mountain chain that's older than words and hides and traps things older than that
Those mountains were my womb, where i first hurt and where i first held, how i learned to heal and harm in turn
Those mountains are the spine of the world, sinking under the weights of ages, settled in their rage and power but no less dangerous
These mountains are flash in a pan
Young and loud and tall and prouder than they should be
They take and take and take and forget that if you want to keep taking for long then you need to take less and more kindly
These mountains are barren in a way that Appalachia never was
Stripped of life and all emotion except numb fury
The things living in these hills aren't tricksy and wily and powerful, they're injured animals on the run and they're cornered in by the press of toxic humanity
They don't know me
And i don't know them
But they see me, sense me, look for me
And I'm afraid sometimes
I don't dislike them
They're alien
They're wild
They're not home
But i could learn to work with them
But also? I miss clever jack, i miss the plants i know by heart and smell and sight
I miss the ghosts of those who should've never been there but dug in deep anyways
I miss the AGE
I feel old my dear
I've been around too long, this is not the first meaty church my spirit had occupied and these mountains make me feel old and weathered and like I've walked into a party i was not invited to
but my heart went west so now thats where we make our home, itll do for now