Today, moss felt like felt on my fingers
as I stretched my hands on the nearest tree
and watched as the clouds formed and vanished
over the small, swampy lake. I sat at the edge,
just beyond the edge of the water, and stared
without focus. The crow landed on the
branch above me and cawed deliberately and I
silently wished I could echo his sentiment.
Today turned into a respite from the forest
that I had entered to rest;
an escape from an escape.
And as I smell the breeze off the lake, I
hide my recognition of the anesthesia in the air
because I like the sun on my face,
the wood-chips pressing into my palms, the
dirt in between my toes.
And as my head drifts back down to the ground
my eyes rolling back
I smile momentarily, wondering
but not bothering to care, because
I can’t.