It is time.
They said, unconvincingly.
It is time.
The stifling heat of summer courses languidly through the drooped dripping canopy.
They need to connect.
The forest need.
Of bough and stilted, whistful breeze.
Escapes from truths harder to find, and yet, yet,
Cool calm forest glade.
Quiet utterance, and acceptance,
Difficult to be,
And difficult to not.
A small chink of light, creeps.
And spreads it's weak colours wide - is it the treehouse
Casting a rainboughed spell - ravaged soul
Seeking rest and cool
Balm, calming, accepting, welcome
The glade seeks quiet.
The bear is in the shadows.