The Clearing

The story

Monday morning, the fog quit and I walked until I found a bench by a bridge I had never seen. The dog went straight into the creek without asking and found his spot before I had even dropped the mask. There was a shadow at the tree line, and I let him stay; he doesn't like it where the light falls anyway. Not a fix, not a lesson, just a bench, a creek, a dog, and I was fine. You were never really broken, just a little pressed.

Lyrics

Monday morning and the fog just quit,
walked until I found a place to sit.
There's a bench here by a bridge I never saw,
and a creek that doesn't care about my flaws.
Dog went straight into the water, didn't ask,
found his spot before I even dropped the mask.
Coffee's hot, the sky forgot to rain,
something lifted and I can't explain
why a place I've never been before
feels like something I've been looking for.
I was tangled and I didn't even know,
carrying a knot I'd tied myself ago.
But the meadow doesn't want my explanation,
and the creek has no use for my frustration.
This is the clearing,
where the weight don't need a name.
This is the clearing,
and I walked here through the rain.
Not the end of something heavy,
not the start of something new,
just the place where what was foggy
finally let the morning through.
There's a shadow at the tree line, let him stay,
he don't like it where the light falls anyway.
He'll be there when I need him, that's the deal,
but this bench belongs to what I let myself feel.
Someone's mowing and it smells like July,
and the dog is looking up like he knows why
I keep coming back to places near the ground.
It's because the ground has never let me down.
I was noisy and I thought that noise was strong,
turns out silence had the answer all along.
Not a fix, not a lesson, not a line,
just a bench, a creek, a dog, and I'm fine.
This is the clearing,
where the weight don't need a name.
This is the clearing,
and I walked here through the rain.
Not the end of something heavy,
not the start of something new,
just the place where what was foggy
finally let the morning through.
You don't have to understand it,
you just have to show up here.
The bench won't ask what happened,
the creek won't hold your fear.
Let the meadow do the breathing,
let the morning do the rest.
You were never really broken,
you were just a little pressed.
This is the clearing,
where the weight don't need a name.
This is the clearing,
and we walked here through the rain.
Not the fix for something broken,
not the cure for what we've been,
just the place where what was hidden
finally let the light back in.
Monday morning.
Coffee's cold.
Dog's asleep.
Sky's still open.
I think I'll come back tomorrow.