Idaho - Erika Ryann (original by Josh Ritter)
With the snow continuing in a slow drift around the windows of my toasty apartment, covering the two giant pine trees in front of my living room windows, I think I’m reminded of my home in the forest. I don’t miss driving half an hour just to get food, but I do miss dark, still nights with snow so thick on the ground, trees and homes it seems to silence everything. Outside and alone, there is a sense of something living in the dark space between the knotted trees. When I let my mind wander there, I find memories peering out back at me from behind the twigs. Old voices, faces, moments that pass behind my eyes like flitting silent films.
And a heavy sense of the unknown. There is what I see and there is what actually exists which sometimes terrifies me more.
But I am still a part of it. I can’t let it know I feel threatened by it, and so I venture into the knotted silence with my head held high.