You look for it, the spark. You are lost in the woods and without a source of light enough to see your hand outstretched in front to feel for sharp, angled branches. They were set up by the angry, spiteful soul of the ancient earth with intent to gouge out the eyes of wandering human beings, all armed with diseases that turn your vital organs into liquid without antidote or anecdote. No cute stories to save your species, brother flower.
You are an intruder among ancient tree trunks.
The spark eludes you directly but you keep imagining it to be just ahead… around the next corner. You travel deeper into the heart of the forest and you can hear the moaning spirits of all natural creatures moving around you in tightening circles. The moon is extinguished by the depth of your meddling.
It’s there, love. I can see it. The spark. The fire. Under the waterfall. The shining smooth rock faces, making horrific faces and laughing at us, my dear. We are victims of this pursuit but we can’t help it. Your face is full of fear and apprehension.
Let us escape through this elusive light. Watercolored memories of future deaths and incomprehensible sadness. We were never alone in our suffering but our loneliness refused outlet.