I grab for a knob,hoisting myselfonto the first branch.Rough bark crumblesunder my sneakersas I search for a hold.

Odd-shaped leaves rustleas branches shiftunder my weight.I pick pieces of woodoff my hands,leaving indentationsin my skin to fade away.

Nestling into a worn creviceI look out over the dark,still water,light from the evening sunplaying across itsever-changing surface.

I lean up againstthe massive oak,one leg danglingout over the lush, tall grass.Silhouetted in the skybirds burst from the trees.

Silence surrounds me.I am alonewith my thoughtsas a friend.

I free my handand begin to write.