I imagine a house in the woods. Down a narrow road with green growing up both sides. Infinite leaves and bark overhead and underfoot. Fog and four-legged creatures scampering about. I imagine a house made of glass. Crystal clear views in stereo surround. On display for the no one who can look in. And living in that house I could walk into the wood And scream. It would be nice to feel so heard.
Somber and grey, the fog hovers;
At home in the valley’s bed yet
Out in the world alone.
The blue eyed wallflower is
More than a little socially awkward;
She stands around, pushing herself
In amongst the gregarious group;
The stalwart hills, amenable trees,
And gossipy brooks,
But never quite feels like part of the scene.