Hope

The sharp smell of pine,
The snip, snap, crunch of leaves like a victory,
The smell and feel of the wind on my face,
Leaves me breathless.
Never knowing exhilaration like this,
This simple feeling,
This archaic knowing.
The swell and rise of comfort,
Like a blanket,
Wrapping me in the security of self.
Everything is sudden and all at once.
Nothing is luck; all is destined.
Sometimes it is there,
Sometimes it is not.
I wish that it could be bottled and sold,
For when it is like this,
It seems like nothing can go wrong.