WILD

WANDERLUST

There is a river next to the path you walk; the forest is dense,
but the sound of the river remains constant, playing in your ears
like overtures, its green, the kind of green you have to look for,
search far and wide to step into. The leaves crunching under your foot
with the sounds of what once was. You are content, the sounds
of your footsteps, accompanied only with the sound of water
rushing across unseen landscapes, and then it happens...

The forest breaks open, to sunlight, streaming in
from above, the dark greens turn light, and dust itself becomes visible falling in
fragments on to the wood that holds the green aloft. You realize, in the mooment,
that there was no forest, there was no river, only a path. Only, paths to walk.

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