The wild rhododendrons were corrupted by moths that bunch obsessively around its soft sweet clusters and blink their fake-eyelash wings. Many things happen in nature when we are not watching - the thorny bush crawls lushly from the creek to shade wildflowers; a lightning-struck tree struggles to survive an exposed trunk, split into silver halves. A small watermelon waterfall savages the soaked ground and tree veins swim through the dark dirt, thick and arthritic. The wind is bare and revealing, and in my mind, wedged open like a shell by my spiking heartbeat, the understanding forms:
"You must claim your place or you've got none, honey."