A group of people gathered around a campfire on a starry night

Late Summer

You wake up alone, storm a circle outside your window, youโ€™ve been dreaming about sheets of mushrooms again. Itโ€™s best to nap through, wrap yourself in the sleeping bag your mother got you, coated in paint when you wanted to be an artist.
A river at sunset.

Wild Swim

That summer, the fields had become my dance floor, sunsets had replaced box sets, and getting lost was an invitation, not an insult. Iโ€™d returned to the country of my birth, seeking solace and retreat. Now Iโ€™d come home to myself. Iโ€™d grown stronger, braver and bold.