I don't like the feel of the moisture that hangs in the air,
The heaviness of humidity like a film coating my skin.
long and winding roads between trees soon to be cut by the hands of man,
Rivers to be violated by curious fishers and children.
It fills me with tranquility yet anxiousness to know somethting so beautiful will be destroyed.
These looming trees,
The aging moss,
The rolling hills occupied by the tall grass rolling with the wind like on-shore waves.
I can breathe but I can't,
An unveiling curtain covering my eyes as I yearn for some sanctity amongst these trees.