Imagine a forest.

Imagine it being solitary.

Solitary is good.

Good for a forest.

 

Imagine your bare feet,

moving over damp decay.

Moss.

It smells musty.

It feels rural.

It’s cool.

 

Imagine a forest.

A forest is always brown.

Brown is good.

It’s powerful.

Imagine brown being warm and raw and home.

 

Imagine a tree.

Its wild.

Its deep.

You hear it.

 

Listen!

Rustling.

Whispering.

Beating.

Alive.

 

Trees are the drums of nature.

Imagine there’s a rhythm.

It’s a tangled, chuckling music.

 

Alive.

You are alone.

We are brown.

Quiet.

Cool.

 

Slashing.

Imagine two screaming creatures.

Stomping!

Imagine two beings gloating.

They grip, they grapple.

They grope and grasp.

They scald and shuffle.

They snarl and growl.

 

 

They are bent and twisted.

They are turned and folded.

They rip the air.

They tear to tear.

Leave naught behind.

But

one small seed,

surrounded by destruction.

 

Imagine a forest.

Solitary.

Brown.

Destruction.

Seed.

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