The Vultures

         Isolated from societal opinions, it is in the woods I walk. This is where I find myself wandering without a purpose, my journal firmly squeezed in my cold bare hands. The sun begins to split through the trees and the outdoor air fills my lungs with freshness and rebirth.The further I walk into the woods the more I feel a victim to inspiration. As an idea comes to mind the lid from my pen begins to slide off. Releasing the the journal from the death grip my hands have provided, as to not drop my it I slowly begin to sit down on the cool forest floor. Bending my knees and, placing my hands on the ground first I feel the dirt move between my fingers. With my pen free and my journal open in my hand I frantically began to write. Sometimes, sadly inspiartion comes and goes faster then my pen can scratch, and then I am left in the woods wandering alone with nothing to do; however today, in the woods this is not the case. The faster my pen scratches at the page the more open my mind becomes. Looking up it seems as if the the trees have created a blanket making me believe I am in a different world. Even more isolated then I was before. My mind is focused like a tiger when its ready to pounce on it's prey. The more I write the faster time goes by and in the end the pages of my journal begin to burst with colourful words popping out in every sentance. Satisfied with the events that transpired in my journal I place my pen back into it's cage, slowly I begin to close my journal hiding it from the opininated elements. Getting up, dusting off my black tights I begin to walk, again with my hands providing a death grip for my journal. The closer I get to the outskirts of the forest the more I begin to feel extremely vulnerable to the opinionated vultures that lurk above. As I exit the forest I have nothing to cover me over head, and walking down the street it is sad to see that the lurking vultures begin to dive down and peck at my journal for all it has to offer.