Life and death

When I walk through the woods I think about death

Which doesn't really make any sense

I'm surrounded by sprawling moss, collosal treas and gentle rivers

Things which are the epitome of life

Things which are beautiful and ethereal and magnificent

But all I can think about is death

Maybe some context

I've never been very good at being on my own

As a small child, I was frightened to be behind the willow trees which pervaded the centre of my garden, frightened that their hulking bodies would conceal me and make it impossible for my father to see if the monsters were taking me away

I would lay in bed at night, with the covers pulled over my head, breath shallow and hot as sweat ran down my neck, feet tucked in, alert, so the monsters from downstairs couldn't see me, touch me, hurt me

It wasn't until I was an adult and met a real monster that I understood that they don't just come for you at night, or in the dark, or at the back of the garden, but during daylight when the world is beautiful and large, and you are beautiful and small.

So now, even in the middle of life itself I can't help but be afraid

Afraid that the monster will come for me and I will not be able to run into plain sight to my father or hide beneath the covers

Instead, I may just find myself just part of the woods, with moss in my hair, roots in my veins and rivers flowing from my eyes

So yes, when I walk through the woods I think about death

But I still walk through those woods

I still marvel at the sights, the smells, the taste of the air on my tongue

I still smile and look up at the blanketed sky and I know that if death comes for me

At least I will be truly alive first