Trolling the dark woods.
Bracken crunching underfoot.
Scratching errant branches catch my skin at every step.
Why am I here?
I scratch my head.
I find a splinter.
The trees answer my behest.

Nemophilist, walking the woodland.
Battling branches...metaphorically of course.
Nature is my calling.
It's calling out to me.
Begging for sunlight's sustenance.
To fortify and rectify.
It's domain is tortured.
Threatened and teased by builders of houses.
Property developers.
For as humans born of man we are just products bent on destruction.
The oak tree stands fixated on my visit.
It doesn't move.
It can't.
It has more to say than I ever can.
I am representative of it's wishes.
Stood longer than you or I.
Look me in the eye and declare that you don't  care.
I dare you.
(c)Livvi