A Stranger Beneath the Leaves

I finger a rich, dark green leaf, dappled with sunlight. Running my fingers over the rough bark of an oak tree, I lift my head towards the sunlight. The sun warms me down to my toes, and I scoop up handfuls of dirt. It feels so rich, so malleable. I press my feet into the soil, noting how it shows my footprints. It’s so different from the cold wooden floorboards that would creak when you walked on them, and only warm when you shared your body heat. It’s so spacious here, and I feel so much more free than I ever did. A gentle breeze rushes by, stroking my hair and swaying the leaves. A sudden hiss startles me. Something shiny peaks out of the lush vegetation, and it bares its fangs at me. I tilt my head to look at it. It looks like a shiny, thick silver-green string. When the sunlight hits it, it shines, and I admire its beauty. I reach out a hand to touch it, but it rears at me and bites me. I recoil, and stare at it. The shiny thing recoils too, and it slowly swerves around, stopping right next to me. I tentatively reach out my hand again, and it leans into my touch. It’s cold and scaly, feeling refreshing under my hands. I stroke it again and again, marveling at the texture it has.