AlexCuervo

My feet are cold and wet. We were running, laughing being childish fools in the forest. The sun is setting, the mountain is painted orange and the sky starts to turn pink before turning blue. We are so happy as the air cools and the breeze makes the trees tell us to lower our voices.
As we trek to wherever it is we are going, the light continues to fade. The trees become silhouettes against a darkening sky, bodies become mere shadows against the numerous trunks, and the noises of the trees in the wind blend with the shuffling of cold feet and wet clothes.
My body trembles my mouth smiles as I follow shadows. I stop briefly to look up through the canopy as the first stars appear. I smell the earth and water and trees. I listen to everyone’s shuffling and continue behind them.
We are still laughing and joking when we stop in a clearing we sit, we talk, we tell stories around a fire that isn’t there. We all look up and revel at the sky, at how many stars there are. There is st