Lost in the woods
The path dissolved three turns ago
Green walls press closer now
Ferns brush against my bruised shins
Every tree looks like the last one
Sunlight drops the canopy like sharp needles
The air smells of damp moss and old rot
A twig snaps behind my left shoulder
I freeze
The forest holds it's breath with me
I am not longer the observer
I am the guest who stayed too late.
Copyright © Sandra Rao | Year Posted 2026
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