It's late. Everything waxes silent. Except perhaps the peepers
I'd heard being in the forest reduces the burdens of the day. Of life.
Sending regret down its own separate path.
With hope wending its way back.
There in the forest.
There in the dark.
Reckon that's true. All of it.
Escapism by a different name. Uninduced yet deliberate. Unasked but all giving.
The forest can be a beautiful place at night.
Will they understand?
Can they feel it, there in the words?