Photo Source: Wikimedia Commons Doubt I haven’t breathed in seven months, standing here on this mushy stump, a pad of plush moss beneath my gummy boots glazed with soft runoff from the spring. I have never known such purity as in these humbled waters. I inhale their tang, balloon my lungs with a bittersweetness I’ve forgotten. I saw waxy petals sprout from a carpet of brittle needles today, frail as porcelain and just as translucent. I can’t believe anything could thrive under such...