What forest? he said, “All I see are trees.”
Blinded was he, to not see, what stood before him.
“What proof have you” he uttered “Of this forest you talk of”
“When all who look see only trees, just like me” he added.
My stare he took for confusion, for truly I was. “What thing was it, that prevented him from seeing more than just trees?”
“How now, would I waken him, to what stood before him?”
“What shift in thinking could I impart to one so clearly convinced, that there was no forest?”
He waited, for me to reply.
And so I said “You’re right, there is no forest”
And walked away.
About the Creator
Katie
Really just an amateur trying my hand at this.
Reaching Out
I promise her. I'd do anything for her. She's my mom. Even as Lanie and Deanna are flying home, Mom is scrappy fighting dying. She lays too still in that too-big bed with all the toasty white hospital blankets, in the south tower, at the broad end of a long slow-turning corner that delivers me again to her private room with the view she can't see through, with the beeping that tells us nothing new, and all these ice chips she can't swallow, and a flood of well-intentioned nurses who cannot do a damned thing all the same.
By Christy Munson4 days ago in Fiction
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