Thebreak fromthecommotion ofthecity is Serene.

X.Twins

The twin mountains are best friends.

They went to the first grade together and fought over who was the tallest and had more rocks. Now they are inseparable. They dress in whiteas the winter wind blows the ruffles of theirsleeves.

A shallow riverflowsbetween the twin girls, where raccoons, deer, and bears come home to their lodging. Towering evergreens keep their hue beside the naked trees. The clouds are not tall enough for the girls. They are blanksheetsofpaperthatglidethrough theirheads.

Being in between the two is disorienting, yet there is something so pristine,sofresh,aboutthelandscape.

XI.AnOdetoLawrenceAir

The air feels heavy when I walk the streets. The aroma of fried chicken from the bodega follows me two blocks away, back to my house. I feel like I am sharing this air, like someone is sucking and sucking all of the scents away from me into their selfish lungs.Witheverybreath,theair feels dirtier, knowing I am sharing it withpesteringhumanbeingswhoseem to ruin everything. All Iamleftwithis fractions. I huff and puff, but there is notenough.

Call me greedy, but it feels like I have not been left with much of it.

Like a 3-year-old child,Iwant italltomyself.

XII.AnOdetoLittletonAir

The air in Littleton is crisp. The sweet hibiscus lingers intheair;if ice and Listerine were a gas, it would be the one I breathe in. I imagine the air molecules are stretching their little armsandfingersanddancingaroundin theirspace.

When I go back home, I think of the air andhowgooditfeelstohave spaceandtofeel free.

No cluster, no people, just mountains, flowers, and crisp air allllllllllltomyself.

“There is a deep interconnect -edness of all life on earth, from the tiniest organisms to the largest ecosystems, and absolutely between each person.”

–BryantMcGill

XIII.9:40p.m.

My legs feel like I have been swinging them on a cliff, and they are abouttogiveout.

Like a pestering little insect nibbling at my spine, a sharp, constant pain nags at my back. The frost seeps through my window, reminding me of theprevailingwinter.

My eyesareforcedshutbythe oncoming droopiness. I fade into a distant memory of myself, inmyblack coat, surrounded by nature’s falling feathers of whiteness. I am alone, and it is the first 32-degree morning in November.

The more I snooze, themoreI meltintomychild’sembrace.

Daughter, I cherish the memories of vibrant leaves, healthy soil, thriving vegetation, and blue skies.

The skies are now grey, and I remember to love you a little more whenthistimecomesaround.

I caress her beautiful leaves while hugging her pot. Fromnowon,I speak only kind words and practice gratitude for the liberating and clean air you provide me. For how much we have ruined your natural family, and wiped out your home, like the merciless beings we are, you continue to nurture us. It is time that I nurture you.

Every night, Ispeaktoandpet mydroopyplantuntilshebecomestall, colorful, and vibrant again. She smiles back at me, and I grin back at her. I finallyfeelfree.