A Second Home

I stay seated on a bench, staring at the large oak tree in front of me.

I stare even more, squinting even closer to catch a glimpse of the dewdrop-soaked leaves, and the infestation of bugs scurrying up the tree trunk, desperate to get away from the beating on their backs.

I avert my eyes to the fallen flower head gently touching the floor in front of me, and I picture how cute they would look as hats on a fairy or perhaps a magpie.

I feel my fingers caress the damp trunk and the squishy moss nature has so artistically placed,

The sun is nowhere to be seen, and I'm okay with that, sometimes the sun hurts my eyes and burns my skin.

I've always preferred the fog, acting as a curtain for the forest to protect it from trespassers. I leave the forest feeling a sense of self and a yearning for another day.