posted on Jun, 8 2016 @ 03:38 PM
I remember . . .when it was impossible . . .to see anything through the trees,
Thick undergrowth hid everything.
The woods were quiet, yet alive with intention. Animals, birds . . .breeze.
Deep scents of trees, flowers, dirt . . .moss. I miss the moss most. It gave me direction.
North . . .so that way must be south. Then east and west must be there . . .and there.
A hike . . . to light . . .through the darkness of the forest. To a clearing, to see.
But I ran back into the cover of the trees . . .didn't I ? That was the old me, reacting to light, from the blight.
The blight brought bleakness. Which brought weakness. Weakness withers my forest.
I cannot hide as easily in the woods as I once could. I miss that. The nook . . .by the brook . . .now that was a spot.
The woods are more bare . . .now. What have we done ? The sun . . . hot and bright . . .no longer yellow . . .but white.
I remember when it was impossible . . .to see anything through the trees.
Now, I can see for miles. Nothing moves. No one smiles. It took a while. To die. (Sigh !)
So why . . . . .the genetic modification ? You bastards.