I want to go back to Oregon, to Ireland, to Denmark.
I want to return to that fear of the night. The heavy-scented trees concealing beings of darkest possibilities.
The hidden ones.
The ones that give you dreams.
I want to go back to forests so dense that witches can hide in the middle of a crowded city.
Where the dark-skinned people took on animal forms and danced around a snapping fire.
Where the fair ones matched the snow that surrounded them and cast spells with their letters.
I want to return to the gray sky with tall gray stones reaching up into its belly.
Blue paint streaking white skin. Fire in their eyes.
I want to go home.