01/05/2026
Who needs a carpet of crimson and plush,
When you have the forest, the wind, and the hush?
Forget the polished, the stiff, and the still,
We’re trading the aisle for a walk up the hill.
With leaves for our confetti and moss for a seat,
And the crunch of the autumn beneath our own feet.
The dress might get dusty, the shoes might get worn,
But that’s how a proper adventure is born.
We’re skipping the ballroom, the glitz, and the glow,
To stand where the oldest of oak trees can grow.
Just two happy humans, a squirrel or three,
And a promise that’s rooted as deep as a tree.
So here’s to the brambles, the dirt, and the pine,
I’m yours for the trek, and I’m glad that you’re mine.
We’re taking the long way, the wild way, the best,
In our own little patch of the golden Northwest.