Author's Note: Ya, i kno. the 8 thing. i 4got 2 fix it nd im lazy now. ill fix it 2marro wen i update, plz dont yell me 4 this. ((((and i just kno sum1 is gunna yell me))))

Breath in.

Breath out.

Breath in.

Release

The ground is soft and gives slightly under your weight as you lay on your belly there motionless for what seems like ages. Its damp, but you don't mind. However, despite the comfort the forest floor offers you, Margret will defiantly be a bit upset when you come home with a head cold again, so you decide its time to get up. You should probably be heading home soon.

You roll onto your back, looking up at the sky. It's a tie-dye mess of colors; cotton candy pinks, fire-ball reds, and just the creeping hint of purple and navy. It's so beautiful you think about staying just a little longer to look at the sun pass over the tree tops and cry. A beeping from your pocket makes you reconsider. Seems you've got a text message, missy. You contemplate checking it for a second, but easily brush off the thought. It's just Margie after all. You love the woman, but you like your quiet moments free of nagging aunts. This is that ever-famed 'me-time' that weary mothers talk about with their rambunctious five year olds. This is a calm moment that you only get here amoung the trees.

It feels like these silent beasts are the best company you've had in a while, sitting through all your lame jokes and standing quiet and comforting through every struggle you've faced in the years since you came here. The wind rushes through the leaves here in a wordless lullaby that reminds you of mom and how she used to sing. And the grass and leaves that litter the ground hug you better than any high school boyfriend ever could. This is all the companionship you need. This is all the existence that will ever hold you to earth.

You're getting side tracked. Weren't you planning on going home?

You think on that for a second. Do you really have to go? Home is only a short walk away. Surely you can make it back before your nine o-clock curfew. But you dare not check the time. You don't listen to what any normal teen would call music. You don't because it is a disterbance. An unnecessary addition to this perfect world. What need do you have for an earthly pleasure when you can have all this soft, sweet green instead?

It's just so warm here. So… serene? No, that word doesn't describe this place. This place is a compilation of words not native to us mortal humans. This is Heaven and Nirvana and Summerland all at once, and you're quite sure any deity or saint of any sort would consider themselves blessed to walk through this hallowed ground.

All this poetic thinking is making you even more late to get back home. You stand, letting out a small sigh at the thought of leaving this clear patch of green. You take a moment to check your surroundings, both saying goodbye to them as well as regaining your sense of direction. Not that you need to, however, you know this place better then the three bedroom house you call home.

The trees are all hardwoods; a mighty army of oaks and a few brave hollies scattered throughout the masses. Through the rough bark and green shrubbery, you can barely make out a few animals, already warmed to your presence here. A fox and her 2 cubs are just leaving their little hollowed out tree, yawning and stretching after what was probably a long day of doing nothing. The grass and leaves pilled under your converses are the purest greens and the deepest browns your eyes have ever had the pleasure of seeing. but as much as you want to, you know you can't stay here forever. This isn't your place.

There goes the beeping again, a constant reminder at you side that you don't belong to this perfect world of purity. You are an outsider; a weary traveler taking a rest at the most welcoming oasis in the Sahara.

You put one foot in front of the other and will yourself onward. Like all good travelers, you have no intentions of over staying your welcome. You won't poison this place; not when it has been so good to you.

You walk slowly however, every step measured carefully to match the steady rhythm of chirps in the tree tops. You may have to go home, but you're in no hurry to get there. There is no need to rush.

You are serenaded by your cheery ringtone as you step, step, step on home. Margret calls twice 8efore giving up. You feel a little bad for worrying her, but you know that she knows that your perfectly safe here in this paradise. You'll be home soon enough, refreshed and ready to re-enter the world of man with more peace of mind then when you left it.

-wow. this is lamer in retrospect. dueces.