The Wood Comments

The wood do call in this lovely dream. The blur of red, brown, and green. A hunters dreams, chased and followed, wind wisps and scent unseen.

The gods of green stands high among the trees. Their touch blossoms bring. Given pause for the speed of creature they perceive. No ferocity, just the love of racing among all the green.
Soon past, moving from hillside to Grove, meadow to brook. In this lovely dream nothing is mistook just the privilege of running free.
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