Refuge from Chaos
by Crystal Craig

I press my bare feet
into the soft belly of the earth
where the moss remembers rain
and the roots make us one.

A towhee rustles the salal—
quick, nervous joy in a feathered body.
A chipmunk skitters across cedar duff
with tiny feet
and chatters her fierce intent.

I respect her rules.
I know the feeling
of guarding something small
and sacred.

The world beyond this forest
gnashes and grinds—
but here,
a fern unfurls in silence,
in trust.

I exhale.
I follow.

The cool mist rolls in on padded paws
before the sun has stirred.
It kisses the meadow grass,
lingers against my cheeks.

And then—
wisps of penetrating light.
Not all at once,
but with reverence,
as if even the sun
is careful not to break
what is already fragile.

I dip my soul
into the cold embrace of the Salish Sea.
She does not ask for permission.
She takes what I offer—
pain,
tension,
the ache of carrying too much—
and she gives me back
to the shore
with renewed vigor and hope.

My people gather
not in crowds
but in presence.
We meet in the way
an alder leans toward its sibling
so neither will fall.

There is strength in quiet companionship.
There is hope
in shared breath.

I see it
in the amber gaze
of my granddaughter—
how she watches the world
with narrowed wonder,
already uncertain
if kindness still has a place.

And I know
I must show her
that it does.

My husband’s hands
hold years of work,
grief,
joy.
They hold me kindly, gently,
and I let them,
as we still choose
to create our together-life.

This, too, is resistance—
to love,
to stay awake,
to notice.

The scent of crushed fir needles
and Nootka rose on my fingertips.
The taste of wind
before rain.
The hush between birdsong.

This is how I return.
This is how I choose
to remain—
alive,
in a time of modern chaos and destruction.