The Forest

The forest was dead now.
The damp fallen trees lay slain across the canopied floor and they were silent. Not a peep arose from their rotting corpses.
Inside it’s belly an ecosystem was thriving.
The blue sky crept through the branches scattering light off into strange tangents, off the ivy and onto the matted brown mulch.
It played havoc with my vertigo.
The wind pushed the trees away from the heavens; they creaked and groaned their responses.
They were under siege on all sides.
I could hear traffic in the distance. A buzzard cicled slowly overhead, silently following the zephyr.
Burnt out carcasses of Kawasakis and Yamahas protruded like gravestones to lost kings, cutting sections from the greenery. Their rusted hilts did not look out of place as the forest ate them up; an ephemeral pyre to make the passing from youth to eternal destruction.

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