The morning sunlight washed the bedroom in white. Charlie blinked awake and cringed when he thought of the evening before. Gotta get out. Charlie untangled himself from sheets and incomplete assignments, crept around to stuff his bag, found some clothes, and shut the back door. With his hand still on the knob, he leaned against it and smiled.
He let his backyard forest swallow him up. The greenery made a temple with the leaves’ delicately designed ceiling painting and the wide brown vaulting trees. The undergrowth hovered in intense detail. Weeds wafted like smoke. The woods would thin, letting sky settle through, or hunch, cupping the path in leafy hands. Charlie doffed his shoes and strolled through a stream’s morning-cold water.
The tree limbs stretched with a tempting, petrified elegance. Charlie cast off his backpack. He ascended the branches until they bent. Blanketed in density and sky, he breathed. Sleep nudged him back down, lowering him towards the tree’s cozy, mossy roots and the soft loam.