Tree
The trees wave as I walk the narrow path.
Branches reach to gently touch my head, woody fingers trail through my hair.
I look up.
The trees wave.
I walk on.
Roots curl into my path, brushing my toes, exposing the flowery treasures hidden on them
I bend and touch one; the orchid shivers in the dappled sunlight.
Where is the lake? I ask.
The trees point.
I follow them.
The lake is blue as the sky, clouds floating on its pristine surface.
I jump!
The trees clap as I surface, soaking wet.
They laugh as I spit out lakewater.
The sun is low.
I wring out my dress and walk back the path I have come, bare feet sticky with brown mud.
I gasp.
Where is the path? It vanished like the mist at noon.
The trees rub my back.
Never fear, they whisper. We will show you the way.
I follow them.
They wave at me to hurry, hurry, it is dark in the field and will soon be night.
I run after them.
The field is wide, rippling with tall golden grasses.
I breathe, joy in my chest.
Thank you.
You are always welcome.
I wave as I run to the dark little house on the hill, in the vast golden field.
I turn and wave one last time at the trees.
The trees wave back.
Come again soon, they sing.
Waving.
--KatG
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