I love the world in the woods.

It’s less complicated there.

All you here is the rustling of leaves and the sound of birds.

And the world there is alive. Everything’s moving: swaying and quivering and breathing.

I love the way the path is rocky and imperfect, how trunks block the beaten road, roots will form haphazard stairs.

I love that no one sees you in the forest. No one.

Breezes feels tangible, heavier there, and thoughts flow unchecked with them.