Breitenbush was red dragon flies and hot silence, mornings before the sun rose and sleeping in a cabin in the burn zone like a new seed that knows nothing of fire or all the ways it might grow and eventually be destroyed.  Water and heat from the earth were my medicine, and the cold, cold river across the bridge that took the high scream out of my lungs as an offering.  I’d forgotten to bring one.  That’s okay because water always takes what it needs, I’ve noticed.  The deer that greeted me reminded me of the fawn that snuggled under our front porch of my childhood home for three days, wild and innocent.  I unplugged from everything and recharged in ways I didn’t know I needed, in ways I didn’t know I would need.