Is the wilderness good or bad?
Does it taste like organic peanut butter on sour pecan bread?
Does anything grow there?
Is it brown or green or blue?
How big is the sky?
Are there ashes—the remains of so many
who traveled this path and did not make it?
Of burnt out fires that kept some stranger warm?
Do I have to be sorry?
And what if I’m not?
-an excerpt from a wilderness poem I wrote this morning during prayer/ writer’s workshop