Rainy Days

Alive

Sunlight streams through the trees, shifting beams dancing through the green of the leaves, lighting up the forest in a dusty gold glow.
The branches hang low, brushing each other with the gentle tenderness of lovers while the wind sweeps their sweet whispers away, gone but not lost.
Flowers are blooming, filling the air with sweet scents and covering the forest floor with a blanket of petals in pastel colors. A soft place to rest. All around, the chittering of creatures fills the forest with a sort of music. A wild lullaby. 

Wild.
Life thrives in the woods, wild and untamed. The earth itself breathes. It's heartbeat pulses through the thick dirt, ancient and unwavering.
A place untainted by the quest of progress that leaves cold metallic buildings in its wake, taller than the trees they replace, scraping the sky in vain hope of finding happiness up there.
Here, tree roots snake their way across the ground and down, down, down into the earth. Burring themselves deeper, veins stretching across the wild world.
Nimble creatures scurry from branch to branch, rustling the leaves as they go.
Bumblebees buzz hello to lucky travellers who stumble onto the path at the heart of the forest, where the trees grow closer together as if guarding the secrets it holds. 

Secrets.
Soft lessons of laughter and golden smiles mimic the sunbeams slipping between the trees. 
Finding joy in an overturned rock, watching the teeming masses of bugs skitter along in search of tiny adventures and new hiding places to call home. 
The music of the earth that falls upon eager ears is deaf to the ringing emptiness of progress. 
Metal cannot sing.
Busy streets hold no joy for the weary. 
Sunsets are best seen from the tall limbs of a tree high on a hill where the earth stretches out in every direction, painted with every shade of sunlight. 

Sunlight.
The golden day fades, stealing with it the bright colours of the forest, cloaking the world in inky shadows and beads of silvery moonlight. 
In the velvet cover of night, look for the light of a thousand fireflies dancing among the wilderness, living constellations in an ever-changing galaxy. The night air is alive, and the distance between us and the stars doesn't seem so far after all.
Dark branches climb across the moon, a spiderweb in the sky above, netting the dreams of the wild thing below to weave into pretty thoughts.
The sweetest ones are collected like sugar cubes, stacked together to create honeyed lands of possibilty, and crushed into stardust to scatter among the sky. You can glimpse them glittering between the twisted branches of shadowed trees.

Echoed in our souls is the call to explore, to see and do more. Stardust was not meant to settle. Songs older than time are woven within us, beckoning from places we've yet to see. Follow that sound. Chase it across countries and through cities, follow it up mountains and down the deepest valleys. Find joy in every corner of the world. But remember, when the soul weeps for home, look to the trees.