In the woods, I become a refugee from noise.
The trees offer asylum to my thoughts,
their leaves stamping visas on my skin.
I walk alone, but loneliness doesn’t follow.
Here, solitude is a warm cup of tea,
and I drink it slowly, savoring each sip.
The forest floor remembers my footsteps,
archives them in soft earth and fallen leaves.
I am writing my history with every stride,
each step a word in a poem only nature can read.
Branches reach out like arms of old friends,
welcoming me back to a home I never knew I had.
In this green sanctuary, I shed the armor
I wear in the world of concrete and glass.
The wind whispers secrets in a language
my bones understand. It speaks of roots
that run deeper than blood, of resilience
that outlasts winters and wars.
I gather strength from the silent giants around me,
their quiet perseverance a balm to my battle-worn spirit.
In their presence, I learn to stand tall,
to weather storms without breaking.
As dusk falls, I emerge from the woods,
carrying the forest within me like a hidden garden.
I am transformed, a fusion of flesh and foliage,
ready to bloom even in the harshest of cities.
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