Light filters through the trees, glittering over the dew-covered leaves. Nothing moved. All was still. Each step he took you could hear the moss squelch underfoot. Every single blade of grass as far as the eye could see was bending over backwards with the weight of the water it held. Tree trunks were soaked, leaves were like pools.
Each step the moisture in the air grew denser. The light from the sun reflected off of each little droplet; it would blind those who weren't accustomed to the light.
The water held by the atmosphere seemed to be tied to the man. When he moved they seemed to be pulled along, tethered by an invisible thread binding them together. Other than the movement of the light as the water was pulled along by the man, everything else was still.
The farther into the forest the man walked, the denser the forest got. The more it seemed to respond to his presence. The sunlight of midday became the blazing fire of a California sunset. The fire of a sunset soon became the icy chill of the moon at twilight. The moonlight didn't reflect upon the water like the light did, but upon the man surrounded by an ocean above the ground. Surrounded by water choking the already dense forest.
Standing in a tunnel of water and light, the man raised an arm in surrender. Lost.
YOU ARE READING
Echoes of the Deep
PoetryA collection of poetry I've written over the years dealing with my journey through depression and self-harm. It's a mental health journey. (Also, I've Updated the cover! Final Edition) Trigger warning: lots of my writing is a bit dark - deals wit...
