In the trees

Standing in the forest

The scrubby brush nearby nearly engulfs me, surrounds me, wants to pull me down

The arms of the trees reach upwards, always upwards

Too close, the gases choke my breath, some perfuméd, some sick with death

We wait

The doors open

much jostling, not a word

the trees move onward, outward, rushing ever rushing upwards

to make room for more

rebuilding the forest under the ground

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