I’m lying in a hammock,
Staring at the canopy of trees above my head.
Their branches interlaced like the fingers of lovers in an act of passion.
They sway with the gentle breeze,
Each variety with its distinct leaf waiving and dancing to its own tune.
Above and beyond the boughs lies a deep blue sky, dotted with plumes of soft whiteness
Each drifting and changing with every second, never the same from moment to moment.
I watch this scene as the sunlight slowly turns to dusk.
The sun-powered breezes fade and the forest yawns and folds in on itself and sleeps.
I should do the same
But the magic of the transformation of day into night fixes me to this spot.
All form is erased, sky and forest become one, stars twinkle above and fireflies twinkle below as reflections of one another like sky in water.
Buzzing insects sounds are silenced and
A different cast of characters takes over the night shift.
An owl awakens and his hooting echoes between the sleeping trees,
Others answer in kind.
I hear the fox’s footsteps through the dry leaves and
Goosebumps cover my neck at the sound of his bark.
Less vocal creatures slink and stalk through the forest night
Taking their turn at life.
And me, I don’t fit into either cast,
I exist equally in both worlds but am not a participant in either and
Therein lays my sorrow.
I am only a watcher and always alone.