The path is worn and the branches surrounding it are tattered from previous traffic, yet still lush. Those leaves that graze the passengers have seen their traffic, have battle scars to prove it, even have some grains of dirt along their green veins.
The time of day is unknown, but there are sunbeams streaming downward through the clouds, then leaves and glancing up, all that is visible are layers upon layers of greens, leaves, light, sunshine, happy, vein, green, green.
The air is cool and uncomfortable but calming and getting warmer. Upon inhale, it smells of tepid, damp, quality earth, dew, mist, warm. My treads are navigating the roots and my shoes are rock free. My pace is quick, my eyes are wild, my mane flys freely, grazing my ears, swish, swish, sweat.
The leaves rustle.
A wild thing like me?
Nerves completely on edge. Heart open and exposed. We're both running, sprinting actually, legs long and in stride.
Only time will tell though. How cynical and skeptical I have become.
I know I can't be; all I can do is face the unknown and hope that more burrs do not get embedded into my coat, already needing attention.
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