Between the Lines of Mind

      There once was a girl with a forest in her head. When the skies were clear, the world was good. On dewy mornings she would walk through the meadows in that forest, and the way the dew flew off of her black boots and onto her bare legs made her smile. From seeds grew stems and those stems grew flowers and those flowers knew to turn towards the shining sun. All the girl needed was fresh air in her lungs to feel whole, and the kindness of the forest to get by. At night, the does and their fawns would welcome her and she would sleep peacefully knowing that the bucks would keep her safe, and the sun would rise in the morning. Trees grew tall and the break of dawn would shine through their trunks, creating shadows of the past on the forest floor, and she knew not to look down, only to look ahead with bright eyes. But sometimes the clear skies would turn grey, and the wind would roll in and the rain would pour down as if it would never stop. The doe’s and their fawns and the mighty bucks would be no where to be found, and the flowers would close up waiting for a better day. When she thought the forest left her, she would fill her lungs with smoke and wander aimlessly without smiles or laughter. In the meadows her black boots would be swallowed by mud, and though she would try hard to drag her self through, it was far too tiring when she felt so alone. The girl would lie in the flooded meadow, and the rain would pour down through her skin and chill her bones. Thunder would crash and lighting would strike and the trees would fall, and she would lie in the grass with vacant eyes. But just when she thought she would surely drown in the pooling water, that she would never know the feeling of the morning dew jumping eagerly onto her bare legs, that she could never be dry again, she found an umbrella.