A forest weeping

The forest weeps underfoot, a silent rain as though the world were turned upside down and all the easing melancholy that drips from us could be as a bed to lay on. I have oft thought of tears as a cleansing, something to clear the palette of the weary stones of grief and apologetic insensitivities. I walk and remember my solitude as a place to visit, a place to recall the alpha versions of my now.

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