The Oak Leaves

Though it was not misty,

that was the feeling I had walking through these new woods.

I have been there before, but about a mile ahead.

And this mile was different.

We were walking on air through piles of needles...

needles, like long still brown rain drops dripping from the brush...

I've never been able to force my eyes up.

But my ears dragged them with the swaying and creaking of tall thin pines.

My pockets grew heavy as time went on, as is usual for me when in such places.

I cannot, it seems, abide by my own rules.

But why should I

I was in heaven