cool, lush and green.

where the wild things grow and the free things run.

the wind rushing through the trees, and the air whishing past ears ever alert and ready for any sound to reach them.

there is peace in the unknown, calm and collected.

silence rushes over everything like a thick blanket, with the occasional rush of the wind piercing it sharply, but it soon settles again. back into the silent covering that rests above the trees.

the holes of light slipping through the leaves, spilling out onto the ground.

illuminating the floor, covered with sticks, and dirt.

the birds chirping up above singing a chorus of the beauty of the wood, causing one to look up, only to see the sun spilling out over the leaves once again