To Be Wild (A Poem)

Dogs, everywhere, are trying to remind us

not that we should wag our tails

and be free,

but that we are free

to wag our tails.

It’s okay to be wild again,

to run free through the park,

the woods,

the field,

along the beach,

arms to the sky,

face to the wind.

The wilderness reminds us

of our wildness.

The branch that grows straight lacks courage;

it has tried to fit an inorganic mould,

one that it has observed on the pavement below,

on the building across the road.

“You will be the first branch to break,” warns the tree.

“And you won’t be able to blame the wind.

You’re not meant to grow straight,

you’re meant to bend,

and yield to the wind that will mould you.

But first you have to surrender

to your wildness,

to your bumps and your curves,

your so-called imperfections,

and once you accept these things,

these things you try so hard to reject,

they will be the very things

that make you proud of yourself.

And when the wind says fall

you will fall,

and you will be one of the reasons

why the dog wags its tail.

And you, too, will be wagging

in your own unique way.”

*

Blessings.

Gavin