old oak tree
gifts and curses. funny they are the same thing depending on one's coordinants. everything is the same. we are all one. or are we? he wondered. always.
they were fighting again. never with fists, but the words always bothered him more. and once again he resided in his safe place. on the wooden swing, hanging from the most majestic oak on the edge of the forest. not swinging, only sitting. trying to hear nature over what was supposed to be nurture. he always managed to find a way, and the birds never sounded more beautiful.
his eyes glazed over and the familiar unfocused vision filtered in, covering the world in a blanket and putting it to sleep, while another danced atop it. he had this amazing gift as long as he could remember, but never dared to tell anyone for fear of ridicule. was it just his world? or did everyone go to their version of what must be better than where our feet touch? he wondered. always.
it was quiet again. he took a deep breath as if to nourish his soul, and stood up from the wooden swing to walk back inside.