Monday, August 8, 2016

100 Words a Day 896


The smell of wet soil hung heavy under the forest canopy and the damp loam clung to my boots, which left deep prints in the black earth. The trees were gnarled. They twisted towards the sky, trying to slowly outmaneuver their neighbors in their quest to reach the sallow sun. Near the forest floor, young saplings buried shallow roots and struggled to survive in the darkness, until one of the ancient, hard-barked giants finally gave up the ghost and there was space to thrive. Penetrating deeper into the forest, I avoided these diminutive trees and the toxic sap they secreted.

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