Raindrops lay against panes of glass, basking in the dull grey light of the morning hours. Thunder, grumbling atop the wind, walking over lands beyond the river. Water still tumbles down the spouts of the house into buckets, singing gently, a reminder of brighter days. Wood of the porch beneath my naked feet, feeling the tears of summer skies between my toes. One step into green, dew laden grasses; two hands stretching into misted air.

The trees gaze silently through sheets of moss at a pale figure, talking in between creaks and moans as the birds flutter by.

~ Once the storm had passed, water trickled from gutter spouts and sprinkled from the branches of the trees nearby. Out onto the porch, in bare feet I stood, breathing in air untouched by other men. I left my clothes and the shackles of civilization, to dance among the wild things, deep within the moss covered forest.