Here for Turkey

5/4/2025

In the woods, I think of my love in the way I assume old warriors longed for comfort when they wrote songs about returning home to beer and women.

The magic of these forests, and hunting, is introspctive but not self-conscious. I know my goal, but can contend to sit all day in one place and study the shapes of the trees.

I am flooded with relief to be alive, and shame that I continue to live under a veil even with my father who mistakes apathy for support. I can feel how badly I need to talk to someone, and the fear of the unknown beneath. I am wary of acceptance in some kind of self-hating way, that I expect it, and project it onto my father.

He is here for turkey.