'The grove'
The quiet of the grove is piercing. The call of small creatures, the crack of leaves, the snapping of bones of unimaginable beasts underfoot... The trees twist together, entangle themselves, and emerge again.
Embers hang in the air, swaying in time with the tide, a creature sluggishly tagging along behind you, wading through the pool of discarded leaves...
Right there. You can see.
(I'm not sure exactly what this is, but these words were inspired by a walk in the woods with my family. ; ) )
Anne:
Sam:
