Take the sun away. It hurts too much. Give me dark forest under a vague moon.

Let me lie down in the hollow of my tree with moss and petals as my bed. The dreams when they come will soften all blows from my past. All old senses will reappear.

Seeing the cloud patterns spelled out, hearing the affirming rustle of leaves, tasting The offering of overripe berries. The forest creatures are shadows that delight.

My breath is slowing, my heart relaxing. Is this living or is it hiding? Or is that merely a distinction without a difference?

Perhaps it is a reconciliation, an admission of my inherent weakness. I am deathly afraid of real beasts in this world.