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Nature's Thorn

An unreciprocated love

By Griffen HelmPublished 3 years ago 4 min read
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Collaborative painting, Brittney white - Griffen Helm.

Living close to to a mountainside, I was always exposed to nature. Beautiful rolling hills, densely packed with brush and trees; Snaked with long, well-trodden trails. The air is crisp and refreshing, especially in the winter months. Typically children with this sort of upbringing should feel an unburdened connection to nature, punctuated by a particular flower or spot within this natural domain. Of course, this is not the case, as seen with the use of “typically” at the beginning of this paragraph.

Frankly, my relationship with plants has always been strained; Allergies being the primary aggravator to this point. When I was a child, I would have these awful bouts of sneezing and mucus during the summertime. We never quite knew exactly what the cause of this was, but my mother grew up with an aversion to a plant called “ragweed,” so we just assumed it to be the cause of ailment that followed me throughout my youth. Sleeping during the summertime was often an issue, as I wouldn’t be able to breathe in through my nose. Socially speaking, the experience in elementary school was just absolutely awful. It is hard to seem cool when your face is covered in globules of the grossest substance kids want to produce.

Now that isn’t to say that I don’t enjoy the outdoors at all, especially now that my allergies have calmed down with age. I love going on long walks out on trails, feeling my heart pump and breath rush. There is an absolute serenity that exists out there, far from the noise and vibrations of the city. Human beings are meant to be out there, walking, listening and exploring. Nature goes beyond any logical reasoning for happiness; just by the act of interacting with this other living force, you can energize and revitalize yourself. It is truly the place that people are meant to be, and that relationship must be cultivated and appreciated.

However, my relationship with the vegetation of said nature will forever be tarnished by those memories. No matter how much I want to be out there, summer in the woods will always have an unfortunate taste in the air.

If I brush against a plant with my bare skin, then I break out.

If I get pollen in my mouth or nose, I cannot breathe properly.

I love nature, but it absolutely does not love me.

My body isn’t suited to being bombarded by the microscopic sphere of the natural world. And despite actions taken to mitigate its negative effects on me, I will never be entirely comfortable outside of four walls.

If the wind carries that pollen, my eye begins to tear up.

If thorns should peirce me, then my skin bulges and colours.

This love is unreciprocated, toxic and strange.

But, it romance nonetheless; At the lowest points in my life, I have found that by thoroughly experiencing nature, I can lift my spirits and recollect myself. A confusing dichotomy of aggression and appeasement. The way that the branches of trees dance in tune to the hidden beat of the wind, their leaves trailing behind in the wake. It is stunning and beautiful, full of life and energy, like a transfusion of energy, free and clean.

It’s inspiring and transcendental; I myself have fallen prey to its captivating presence many times. I have even written poetry just praising its beauty and the rejuvenating properties that nature presents.

“We Begin Anew

Autumn leaves skate across the surface of the Thames River.

Their fall beauty reflecting off a cool grey mirror of water.

Colour runs from them, trailing in the stream.

It trades this vibrance for the dull grey and brown of decay.

Neither immutable, nor immemorial. Time and wear takes its heart.

The painterly brush of nature finds itself without enough upon its bristles,

with nothing left to recover from the blemishes of the world.

And so they fall. They crackle and are crushed underfoot.

Desire fades as the trees are laid bare by the coming of winter.

There to sleep, until spring cycles back to the forethought of our perception.

Not as a return to the dulled passions of old,

but to ignite it anew.

---

There I stood to stake my claim.

Full of hate and filled with shame,

too scared to yell and share my name.

Here within that dark abyss

I searched in vain for a life of bliss,

an escape from my own soul’s eclipse.”

I feel so indebted to nature; despite its apparent hatred of me. Part of that poem is the idea of “cycles” of death and rebirth. A common theme when it comes to the passing of seasons, but when applied to the ideals of desire and repulsion, it can also represent this unorthodox push and pull that exists when pained by something you love so dearly. In that respect, I apologize if this form of writing has been unclear or confusing, as that is truly what represents the connection I share to the great outdoors.

nature
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About the Creator

Griffen Helm

Griffen Helm; Writer of Things.

Fair Warning my work can be pretty violent, rude, lewd, and explicit; including themes of depression suicide, etc.

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