Feral southern spirits
The older I get, the less I want to be civilized.
I want dirt beneath my nails.
Spanish moss in my hair.
A creek to wander.
A porch to haunt.
And enough silence to hear the spirits whisper
As someone who has always felt a deep connection to the untamed and natural world, I resonate strongly with the desire to move away from the constraints of modern civilization. The poem captures that restless spirit craving dirt beneath nails, the quiet chorus of creeks, and the haunting peace of a porch shaded by Spanish moss perfectly. In my own experience, embracing this feral spirit means seeking out places where technology fades and nature takes center stage, such as forests, abandoned ruins, or hidden meadows. These environments invite a kind of magic—whether it’s through quietly observing a poisonous plant or feeling the ground barefoot—that restores a sense of connection and calm. The imagery of dancing barefoot in gardens or listening to cicadas by candlelight feels like an invitation to slow down and rediscover forgotten rhythms. I’ve found that allowing myself moments of silence away from social pressures helps me hear those whispered spirits, as the text metaphorically describes, adding a layer of soulful meaning to everyday life. This kind of wildness isn't rebellion for its own sake but a healing return to simpler, primal joys that so many of us crave but rarely pursue. For anyone feeling boxed in by daily demands—business meetings, emails, fluorescent lights—this yearning is a reminder to seek sacred spaces outdoors where one can truly be free. It’s a call to honor the feral within us, those parts that thrive in moonlight, solitude, and natural cycles, bridging the gap between old souls, witchy mysticism, and peaceful presence.
