Step in the wood


Whilst walking on the pebbled path, avoiding sound from his feet was inevitable to reach the final destination. Two smiling eyes looked in the dark, it was a shadowy path, covered by the fresh leaves of spring, forming like a tunnel over a road, like we’ve all seen in pictures. The undergrowth thick and dirty, the remains of last autumn still roamed around, ready to become consumed into the new cycle of soil.

The eyes looked at a bird, a bird familiar to these parts of the woods, a he or she had followed him along the trail, curious as it was and always had been, being a solitary inhabitant of this tiny part of the wood. As people, humans that is, called the green parts of the World forests, the bird only spoke of wood, spoke as in sang, the wood song it performed any day on the sunset, greeting the stars, thanking the Sun, and celebrating the colorful day.

Again it was that time of day, he enjoyed the hymn. While he walked on, even adding on rhythm and sound, by forgetting his wish to be as silent as possible, the creakily voice of the pebbled path, he listened, he listened real good. However this wasn’t the day to become distracted, his goal laid ahead, to hear songs of birds we just now heard, all over the place.

Kruip Ruimte


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