one last time, I returned to the true womb

A story i wrote about a afternoon i spent in the woods recently

 

 

   Hid away from chaos, wailing loneliness, and the screching banshees haunting my friends; i remain here in this kind hide away. There are friendships ending back home, sweet kindness turned to thick poison here.

     The day is cool, the streets lined with soft leaves freshly rested uppon the cold ground. These glimmering branch trophies line the streets like true gold, a kind beauty greeting the trail. This day, after the violent storm and the last shreds of anger had gone, i fled my rabbit hole. I left bringing with me an intrument of enlightenment, the cords green with soft sin. I rode through the gated city and lodged deep within the wood, the river, the rebels former home.

       I found a spot, close to the road yet concelled from the lurking swine. The earth shielded me from the world outside, she enclosed me in her branches and dead leaves. The trail i chose was a forgotten rebel escape route, the earth had long since hid this traveled place away. Once those lost children had all been captured, fought away or killed, places like this became forgotten hubs of worship. I peered down at the calm, shallow river below, knowing that i was alone and safe here.

       When i was sure the earth would allow another glimmer of social defiance, i revealed my grand instrument to the surrounding trees. I took fire into the trumpets head and breathed in the means to new perception. The sounds of the rushing water and distant frog chirps became vividly real, the cold ground became welcoming to one last rebel survivor.

         As i sat there, maranating in the wonderous trappings of the herb, i was bombarded with apiphonies of life, people, and the reality that it seemed i was trapped in. The woods had provided me with a new kind of enlightenment, something to trust in, something besides lies of the flesh.

         I realized that time must continue on, shoving us over the edge of a vast cliff. It is as if we fall from the edge to a valley below and repeat this process every so often. I think i was given a gift by the rebel home that day, the wood. I think i was pushed into a new valley, a new phase of my life.

        I hope im ready