Forlorn she was not a tree

She didn’t know it then she only knew it now.

She woke up with same loop blasting around her mind

almost in surreal sound- the chants of the Russian bass choir in all surround.

An apt unconsciousness knew her well.

A year ago… life had been so different.

Mirthful, optimistic playfully laughed when the spendthrift tickled her face . Now, she was rooted and had enough foliage and branches and lush leavesto take in all the vagabonds, and give them shelter.

She sheltered lost souls who needed somewhere dark & isolated to help these nomadic souls plot their next move in life.

When all the souls had gathered themselves and went in search of their dreams and pursuits, she now found herself lost in her own shades of solitude.

She was alone.Tucked up in her double bed -a pattern of flowers – all huey reds and purples.

Ditzy Forlorn – wrapped up in a ditzy forlorn pattern to match her current mind state. Though it felt like she was been choked slowly to death by poison ivy- curling it’s away from the roots of her feet upwards .

It would not stop until she was mummified into silence.

She knew it wanted to make sure her mouth; eyes & nose were covered & bondaged to the soil she had planted her roots.

One day she had an epiphany.

Not many get these moments of clarity.

To do something that had the possiblity of becoming something purposeful & meaningful for her.

She had given life, sustained it. Yet she was weary. She was aging.

Before she was forced to put down roots in an abode that spoke in foreign, serpentine tongues;

Forlorn had forgotten she was was usually a road runner girl. The girl that took herself off to any land on a whim.

Always and forever ready to outrun her nemesis. The one who wanted to keep her hostage in a place she knew she didnt belong.

An elder had kept her close to her . Fearful to let her be free. To be whatever She wanted to be.

Some days she begged her ancestors to rouse the beasts of deforestation to seize her keeper.

So that she could get a clean break and start over. Feel movement not in height but in fluidity.

She almost remembered how it felt like to have wings or arms or legs again.

Each day passed and still she lay rooted to this spot. Full and plumaged as ever .

Ready to entice wanderers to seek shelter for a night or a season.

She fumbled around, yawned and stretched willing pine bristles to deter these unwanted vagrants.

One eve she looked at the bees collecting sweet nectar for the unseen Gods. Forlorn conceived a sapling of hope when her heart had almost given up. She had succumbed to what she supposed was her last winter.

Mentally Rummaging. She had a sense of Deja Vu.

I know it’s here’- impatient, sighing .

A piece of technology from the world she was once a part of.

A means of magic..

A way to communicate her distress. Tangled hands finally caught the pointed end of a carved , wooden wand.

Slim,compact and light.

Lithe just like how she wanted her true form to be again.

Stretching open her eyeballs would have been a lot simpler if she had the the eyelashes to wipe away the moss infecting her sight.

Diminishing another of her senses so she would forget who she was and what she wanted.

Lethargic and almost beaten again . She drifted into a frightful sleep.

A woodpecker hammered her back into her bleek existence.

The epiphany.

The start of her new life was in a gestation period of fewer than 12 hours!

How did I sleep so long? Christ! berating her herself under the twilight, then she saw emanating, in a swarm , around her was a fleet of fireflies.

On the top right-hand corner, coming in and out into focus with each eyeball confirmed the sense of impending anxiousness that had started to emit it’s familiar, disparate gas into her trunk form.

And now too the last place she held on to her liberty – her mind.

Thoughts ploughed at her – like a farmer attacking a poor crop.

Beating it not too much but enough to let her know she was soiled soil.

Not fit for tendering and the soft touch of her keeper.

Soiled ground.

Soiled soul.

Soiled mind.

She should have tried harder.

Absorbed more -light, water, words…

The elder’s I told you so voice pulled her back into the darkness of her gloom.

Just like a car needs fuel to keep going so does the body need food… photosynthesize.

Try and be what you are destined to be. A tree.

She blasts that voice back into the wide gaping void from whence it had snatched out at her.

Reaching over – without too much of a search

She rustled her leaves to call on her new bosom firefly friends.

Everything always looked better when the mood was set to the right ambience.

A loud moan persisted from her innermost pit.

Hunger.

Hunger to be free in the form she chose to be.

Chronic cramp. If only for the longing desire she had for her legs or wings to ease the pain of being motionless.

It wasn’t enough that she contributed towards sustaining other life species.

This obssession with staying stagnant and never seeing a sunrise from another part of the world again; rendered her a perishable item. – though it shouldn’t have to be this way.

She looked down at her well worn form.

How hard can it be to throw herself back to a time when she had legs?

Gills?

Wings?

When she could run and nothing but the wind could catch her.

Just when she thought she could not stand another moment leashed like a dog to a place she felt no affinity with .

Forlorn inhaled the scent of berries & through the mask of creeping ivy, the glimpsed an assortment of psychedelic fleurs initiating that it was time to wake up.

She would force herself to fight one last time… A little longer and she would be free……

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