Nobody knows what it's like to be like me. I hide in the trees that tower above me, they're imposing but elegant. Rural in an ethereal way. Unopened violets; and dreamy daffodils; little purple bluebells; and epiphytal orchids surround the trees. Alluring and magnificent, it'll put under its spell. You'll never want to leave. Come visit , there's two more oaks to live in! Inside the trees are blankets of fern that'll keep you warm in winter.A mattress of golden leaves, a luxury we can afford!Together we'll snack on pistachio nuts and plump, ripe acorns. For lunch, we'll gather berries of every kind: ripe, aromantic strawberries; fresh, scarlet rowan; and the always ubiquitous blackberries. Our bowls shall be laden with the wild and ripe plums and our cups will be full of home-made raspberry cordial. Our meals will be plentiful and our hearts a little fuller. There's no place like home. Nowhere else does the rivers glimmer so brightly in the sunlight.No other river can be as swift and awe-inspiring yet dependable and gentle. Everything at once was mixed into this river.And nowhere else do the trees grow so high you can hardly see the top! Towering at great heights,it far surpassed any other forest, I've even seen.

Climbing the trees is a great ordeal but you can send the optimistic and bright-eyed robins to spy on the on-goings of the forest. Wings spread wide and their feathers flapping in the wind,they can see anything.An undeniable power is held within their wings. A power far stronger than any other power. Majestic in the air,they fly as though they own the sky.Up there,they can do anything as they dance among the clouds. Swooping through the clouds,they detect an overwhelming floral fragrance. Nobody else quite knows what it's like to be as high in the sky.What a creature to be. Graceful in the sky ,sparrows soar below the clouds and create their nest on the branches nobody else can reach. In the winter, the fly back east but always come back to their usual spot. Down in the east, it's not quite as pleasant. Not quite as special.Nothing compares to their hometown trees where the leaves are the most ancient of greens, so glossy and shy. They are exactly what nature should be. No more,no less. Just what it always has been.Our Oak trees stand prouder than any other, their juicy leaves swaying in the wind. They are an art by creation and art by design.Nothing compares to to these hometown trees.

 Down on the ground,bunnies burrow in the dewy grass and down through the mud tunnels with walls so narrow, it's a struggle to enter. Inside they have a quaint , picturesque home with mini nests with surrounding walls so that they wouldn't fall out. As they sleep,their noses twitch and their ears flop whilst their parents watch in adoration, slightly anxious to doze off.The mind of a parent needs not to be explained.Soon those pink,newborn bunnies will grow into healthy full grown rabbits with minds of their own and in the eyes of the world, finally truly be a being.As an adult, they will do as they please. Crawl through the dewy grass as they please and inhale the aroma of ambrosial blossoms.Crisp air will flow through their fur and they will continue through the cold. Because they will fill up their bellies,they will not suffer.To the contrary, they will be gleeful and light-hearted thorough their years, just the same as the others before them. Each summer, they can bask in the summer sun. And they will burrow deep down in the winter, blankets of dirt creating a blanket over them.Growing up here is a childhood like no other.

And out by the lake, fluffy,youthful ducklings follow their lush and impeccable mother through to their nest ,where they too shall sleep through never-doleful dreams of when they will be able to wade through the lake alone.But mother duck never wants these days to end. Days go by and her weariness grows until she's too weak to take care of them.Every day,her ducklings grow more and more needy. No longer can she support them.Her final breath was taken on the last day of April. Eyes of emptiness and a stone cold body couldn't frighten off the ducklings.Every day and every night ,they wept for mama to wake up. But she never would.Two went off to other lakes where the water never was quite as clear as their old lake. This lake was a lot more green and alkaline.It never smelt quite so clean. More like pungent odour. The smell of rot and decay lingered in air and never quite left the pond.Far more stagnant.Never up to their standards. The other three stayed and grew up in the waters they knew, where the water was tranquil and glassy.Nothing could compare to the lake of their mother's legacy.

Little lambs and full-grown sheep graze upon the grass,chewing on the sweet scented flowers. Lambs skip across the forest as though laughter was built at birth and now their joy act as a wire to the universe. Youthful and innocent,they often come across new plants until it can no longer be call a stroke of serendipity. Masters at discovery, they find new food to eat, never legal and never pernicious. Every other animal treasures their contributions as their life wouldn't be the same without them. All the full grown sheep, guard the youngsters with power.If any other creature dares to try and harm them, the ewes will charge, blinded in rage and fierce in loathing. And when winter comes ,the children will grow into magnificent ewes and commanding rams. Many of the elders will have been lost in the winter but now the sheep can fend for themselves. No longer do they need their parents' assistance nor their protection. For now they can preserve themselves better than anyone else. 

Winter has arrived and death fills the land. Trees once thriving in leaves and blossoms are now baked and bare. The clusters of twigs are gnarled and twisted like an old man hands reaching out into the sky. The scent of pinewood and snow fills the air whilst .Whenever an animal dies,I am there. When the seasons change, I am there.When the river dries out and the ducks have no home,I am there.When the woodcutters break down our homes, I am there. Always there. Watching. Waiting. When will it be my turn to go? When will I no longer be able to smell the scents of pine trees and berries? When will I no longer feel the crispness of the leaves in the autumn?When will it be my turn? The winter hasn't passed and I am still here. Everything is dying, it feels like end. But nothing ending ,there is no relief. I'd rather it end than I watch it all go. And then in a blink of an eye, it is spring once again. Another winter has passed and I have survived. Snowdrops and tulips have once again sprung and filled the land. Floral scents and spring air is a delight to the nose and I am gleeful once again.