The Pomegranate Trees

You gently pull back branches and tiptoe gingerly over roots to gain entrance to the forest. You spy a clearing up ahead and yearn to sit under its large oak tree. A rustling sound comes from behind you, quiet and first and then louder. There is definitely something there. You freeze. A squirrel pelts you right between the eyes with an acorn. You collapse onto the ground, your soul crushed like a grape.

Fire shoots up your spine and the soreness of your scalp far outweighs the sore on your forehead. From your spot on the forest floor, you notice sunlight streaking through the canopy above. Flowers and fruit are flashes of color amidst seas of green. You think about sitting up but instead your eyes droop, heavy with exhaustion. You are asleep.