I got out into the garden today. The others didn’t know I was out there, but the side door was ajar so I was able to slip out unnoticed. I needed to get out, to be alone for a little while…get away from it all.

The garden was terribly beautiful. The roses spatter amongst various plants and ferns, impressing a sort of festivity to the scene. It was still dewy from the morning, with tiny droplets of sunlight still caught on the leaves and petals – a shimmering.

I walked barefoot onto the grass, feeling it squish beneath my toes. It felt wonderful – to be out…be on my own…I hopped about gleefully, visiting the different plants, the carefully ordered sections of gardenia and oleander and snapdragon. Their scents cleared me, ordered me, cleansed me. And then I am amongst the trees.

The plants are gone, and so is the light. There is a dampness in here… it lives in the soil. Twigs and broken branches check my arms. My feet sink further into the mud, and it colours my skin, as if I have gotten so deep into the earth that I have taken on its colour. The trunks are thick. They rise up around me – too high.

I am lost, and I can’t remember my way out. I begin to think, but the shadows cover my vision. It is too dark in here – just me and the trees. I think back. I think hard.

One had a lovely face,
And two or three had charm,
But charm and face were in vain
Because the mountain grass
Cannot but keep the form
Where the mountain hare has lain