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No Concept of Time

Natural State

By Matthew HernandezPublished 6 years ago 2 min read
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The calm river, wildly adorned with shrubbery, flows through a dense forest. Trees that have been forcefully uprooted by the river's once drunken rage relax on their sides, silent relics to a time that has long passed, laying their firm testimony across the young saplings who stretch eagerly toward the foamy sea sky. Absorbing every inch of sunlight that slips through their parents protective canopy fingers. The wind sings a sweet scent symphony through thick branched arms, coaxing leaves to leap gracefully upon the melody, dancing whole-hearted at their opportunity to demonstrate the routine they've each prepared. Spinning precariously around each other, exchanging partners as they sway, to bow respectively at the final note moment when they reach the ground. A creative arrangement of color that range from lush green to smoldering red, resembling stain glass, twigs and soil being the fullness inbetween. The lucky few who have been enabled to participate in the second act swirl and glide at the will of the gentle river, who conducts in time to the trickling whisper and shallow gurgling murmured by the entranced audience of rocks in which they pass by. Some leafs being reunited in still-pool pockets where tadpoles play and mosquitoes skate merrily in intricate patterns, which they refuse to repeat more than once. The rays of sun that bounce off the soft surface allure the eye of a wandering fawn, drawn toward the gleaming rainbow light seems to make in passing, cautiously inspecting the authenticity of serenity this humbly moving forest displays. Only after a slight double check does curious life allow it's warm nose to kiss the velvet water, drinking greedily from the rivers abundantly giving body. The crash of a distant tree falling shatters the surreal scene, jolting the young animal from her vulnerable daze, sending her springing into the thicket from which she came. Dashing past lazy squirrels, slumbering peacefully within the confines of their trees, and busy bees, who dully notice anything beyond their own reality, to finally be reunited with eagerly waiting guardians. They make off home at a quickened pace while chastising the adolescent for the potential danger that could have struck. The fawn barely listens to the wise words her watcher's part with as adrenaline wears away, still thinking back to the enchantment she discovered. When the fading echo is strained to be heard, a blanket of bliss gently falls back into practice, careful in design and forever free from the hands of time.

nature poetry
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About the Creator

Matthew Hernandez

Writing as a way of reflection.

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