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You walk into a forest, and something has changed by the time you come back out.
You walk into a forest, and the intensity surrounds you. The greens seem to blossom before your eyes, the earth seems to pulse with hidden knowledge, the bark seems to grow older and browner and the sky to get stronger and brighter. The intricate designs of the veins on the leaves flow with tension, grow with nourishment, and push out and out into the world. The hard crust of bark on the trees, the many-layered world of browns and reds and mahogany, blackish-tan with a hint of an olive skin below, and the lights and darks of gray that seem to be the only lively gray in the world amaze you. Ants scramble along their way, along the chasms and mountains of their world, unaware of and indifferent to your presence, bringing food home or marching to fight. A little bug, the color of a pinkish-rose sunset, speeds along its way, and you lose sight of it as the tiny creature rounds the side of the nearest trunk.
A hidden world shoots up around you, bristling with adventure, the sounds reaching for you but just barely falling short. All that remains of their struggles is the whisper of the wind through the trees, the voice that wants and waits and yearns, that has seen and heard it all through the ages. It knows the truth, the reals and the mights and the what-ifs, but dares not speak them. For who, in this crowded world, could possibly have the courage to listen?
You look up at the branches above you, at the way they stretch and yawn and sing their mellow tunes, sing until they can sing no more, then vanish from existence. The web of bows is filled with the sorrows of the centuries, yet also with constant hope; the vague waving of the mossy sage and pine greens that awaken without fail in the hearts of men.
You reach for the earth below you, for the spot of dirt at your feet, and run your fingers through it. The moist dirt is cool to the touch. There is something soothing about the interminable consistence of its place below you, of the knowledge that you’ll never be far from something, one thing, at least, that won’t ever change. You lie down with your ear against the earth, the grass tickling every bare bit of skin, and listen carefully.
Slowly, very slowly, there comes a beat, like the heartbeat of the entire world. Perhaps it’s your own. Perhaps it’s more than that. It doesn’t really matter, to be honest; it’s just a comfort to know your heart is still there, beating as always, and staying with you. At least for the time being.
You walk into a forest, and something has changed by the time you come back out.



It needs work, to be sure. And I shall work on it....maybe. I don't know, it was just something I sat down and wrote. sweatdrop COMMENT!!