The forest

The still air, motionless without wind,
Mosquitoes buzzing around my head,
The slight rustle of people's footsteps,
& the quiet chirp of a songbird.

Dry beech leaves cover the forest floor,
A thick canopy of trees partially blocks out the sun,
Creating dancing sunlight across the roots, rocks & brambles.
I sigh, tired after a long night of sleeping in a tent.

A decaying log shifts under the weight of my foot,
Its deep, dark brown insides are a hotel for insects & moss.
The stump of the fallen tree sits lonely
At the edge of the rotting carcass.



 

Willcox Elliott

VT

15 years old

More by Willcox Elliott

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    The skies are clear and the sun is out,
    the oars splash, and waves dance in unison.
    Layers come off.
    Layers go back on.
    What used to be a breeze,
    is now gusts pushing waves
    so they crash against the hull
  • People and politics

    It tears people apart.
    It brings people together.
    It creates a whirlpool of 
    debating, pointing fingers, and strategy.

    Politics has brought divisions among us
    and identity in an ever-changing world.
  • The Wolds We Visit

    When we sleep
    we drift up,
    rising to 
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    and opportunity.
    A place where
    we can dream,
    and be ourselves.
    We rencounter
    the day,
    and the day before,
    going over it a hundred times