Grove

A lush, green field. The clearing offering up its virginity. My eyes wander eventually settling upon my scrawny, bare skeletal frame. So distinct and alone. The sun gently lends its rays to the gleeful frolicking of the forest’s youth, engaging excitedly in their innocent indiscretions. From across the grassy expanse I spot a pale woman, serene yet fostering a dormant anticipation. I make no note of it yet.
A more highly concentrated crowd swarms the stage at the northern most edge of the clearing. They sway and hum along with soothing grooves, arms bending and flowing in the wind like the tall grass at their knees. A few of the women delicately swaddle infants. None of them cry. The ankles of the mothers almost indistinguishable from the roots of the plant life running deep into the earth. Farther off men and women float idly in shallow streams of fresh, natural water. Some sleeping. Their eyes rolling rhythmically exploring far off dreams. A commotion arises in the vicinity of the stage, yet whatever roar erupts it only reaches my ears as a muffled whimper: the malfeasance of discord suppressed by the raw and utter harmony of the silent tranquil wind brushing against the tiny obscure bodies of the place.
Parting from the crowd like a droplet gently breaks from a body of water a man walks in my direction. Nondescript save for the raggedy clumps of unwashed hair descending far beyond his shoulders. The words escaping his mouth never reach my ears. Soon he continues on. From where I'm sitting I see the aged band stand: the dull and worn metal overwhelmed by a mass of tangled roots and vines, at this very moment ascending further towards the structure's peak, the thick black microphone now standing sole upon the artificial stage, the over-fitting windscreen unable to filter the silent gusts branching through the distilled air.
All around the thick massive trees descend into the earth, their roots burrowing ever deeper into Her fertile soil. The quiet creation of the forest. My eyes raise again to the pale figure sprawled across the patch of intensely green grass. I'm closer to her. A man emerges from the forest with a ball of cabbage, picking at it's outermost leaves. The inner layers reveal a dense and vital green that strikes a resonance with the entire grove. A moment arrives and I act.