Free write: A Fallen Tree

It’s early evening, about 4.30pm. I’m sat on what used to be the body of my favourite tree in the wood. It wasn’t the biggest nor did it have the most boastful of branches, but it was mine. If you looked closely I’m sure you can find the indent of my butt cheeks where I spent so many afternoons sitting. It fell not too long ago.  I can feel the warmth of the sun massaging my face as I bathe in its orange blush. It has its arms spread wide tonight, rays reaching every inch of the field, setting the ground on fire, everything lighting up gold. The sky looks like candyfloss; my stomach growls. The heat fills my heart up and, for the first time in what feels like an extremely long time, I don’t feel so empty. My mind has been racing, racing, racing for such a long time without opportunity for a pit-stop, that it is wonderful to finally feel a sense of peace. The whole feeling has me feeling on a high, like a drug, overwhelmed and intoxicated. As darkness comes I lay my head on the fallen tree. Day and night do a graceful dance until eventually, light seeks sleep and the fire is put out by the moon and he stars. I applaud their grand romance. I close my eyes and smile, the sparking lights shining down on me and my tree.

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