I have always been in the forest. The forest remembers what I have forgotten. The forest holds what I wish to forget. My blood is red with clay-rich loam. I sleep in moss. I have always been in the forest. The wind sings through the leaves, a whisper, a susurration, a reminder, a hiss. It cajoles me, comforts me, sings me to sleep the way a loving mother would hum a lullaby to her recalcitrant child. The forest loves me. I love the forest. The skin beneath my nails is stained from clawing the mud, in hopes of resting against her bones. The canopy shields me from what I cannot bear. I am grateful for her cover, the tree crowns, worn proudly. My sweat smells of petrichor and rot. Mushrooms fruit from fallen trees, branches snag in my hair, thickets catch on my clothes. The creek and insects hum. I have always been in the forest. The forest remembers what I have forgotten. The forest holds what I wish to forget. My blood is red with clay-rich loam. I sleep in moss. I have always been in the forest. The wind sings through the leaves, a whisper, a susurration, a reminder, a hiss. It cajoles me, comforts me, sings me to sleep the way a loving mother would hum a lullaby to her recalcitrant child. The forest loves me. I love the forest. The skin beneath my nails is stained from clawing the mud, in hopes of resting against her bones. The canopy shields me from what I cannot bear. I am grateful for her cover, the tree crowns, worn proudly. My sweat smells of petrichor and rot. Mushrooms fruit from fallen trees, branches snag in my hair, thickets catch on my clothes. The creek and insects hum. I have always been in the forest. The forest remembers what I have forgotten. The forest holds what I wish to forget. My blood is red with clay-rich loam. I sleep in moss. I have always been in the forest. The wind sings through the leaves, a whisper, a susurration, a reminder, a hiss. It cajoles me, comforts me, sings me to sleep the way a loving mother would hum a lullaby to her recalcitrant child. The forest loves me. I love the forest. The skin beneath my nails is stained from clawing the mud, in hopes of resting against her bones. The canopy shields me from what I cannot bear. I am grateful for her cover, the tree crowns, worn proudly. My sweat smells of petrichor and rot. Mushrooms fruit from fallen trees, branches snag in my hair, thickets catch on my clothes. The creek and insects hum. I have always been in the forest. The forest remembers what I have forgotten. The forest holds what I wish to forget. My blood is red with clay-rich loam. I sleep in moss. I have always been in the forest. The wind sings through the leaves, a whisper, a susurration, a reminder, a hiss. It cajoles me, comforts me, sings me to sleep the way a loving mother would hum a lullaby to her recalcitrant child. The forest loves me. I love the forest. The skin beneath my nails is stained from clawing the mud, in hopes of resting against her bones. The canopy shields me from what I cannot bear. I am grateful for her cover, the tree crowns, worn proudly. My sweat smells of petrichor and rot. Mushrooms fruit from fallen trees, branches snag in my hair, thickets catch on my clothes. The creek and insects hum. I have always been in the forest. The forest remembers what I have forgotten. The forest holds what I wish to forget. My blood is red with clay-rich loam. I sleep in moss. I have always been in the forest. The wind sings through the leaves, a whisper, a susurration, a reminder, a hiss. It cajoles me, comforts me, sings me to sleep the way a loving mother would hum a lullaby to her recalcitrant child. The forest loves me. I love the forest. The skin beneath my nails is stained from clawing the mud, in hopes of resting against her bones. The canopy shields me from what I cannot bear. I am grateful for her cover, the tree crowns, worn proudly. My sweat smells of petrichor and rot. Mushrooms fruit from fallen trees, branches snag in my hair, thickets catch on my clothes. The creek and insects hum. I have always been in the forest. The forest remembers what I have forgotten. The forest holds what I wish to forget. My blood is red with clay-rich loam. I sleep in moss. I have always been in the forest. The wind sings through the leaves, a whisper, a susurration, a reminder, a hiss. It cajoles me, comforts me, sings me to sleep the way a loving mother would hum a lullaby to her recalcitrant child. The forest loves me. I love the forest. The skin beneath my nails is stained from clawing the mud, in hopes of resting against her bones. The canopy shields me from what I cannot bear. I am grateful for her cover, the tree crowns, worn proudly. My sweat smells of petrichor and rot. Mushrooms fruit from fallen trees, branches snag in my hair, thickets catch on my clothes. The creek and insects hum. I have always been in the forest. The forest remembers what I have forgotten. The forest holds what I wish to forget. My blood is red with clay-rich loam. I sleep in moss. I have always been in the forest. The wind sings through the leaves, a whisper, a susurration, a reminder, a hiss. It cajoles me, comforts me, sings me to sleep the way a loving mother would hum a lullaby to her recalcitrant child. The forest loves me. I love the forest. The skin beneath my nails is stained from clawing the mud, in hopes of resting against her bones. The canopy shields me from what I cannot bear. I am grateful for her cover, the tree crowns, worn proudly. My sweat smells of petrichor and rot. Mushrooms fruit from fallen trees, branches snag in my hair, thickets catch on my clothes. The creek and insects hum. I have always been in the forest. The forest remembers what I have forgotten. The forest holds what I wish to forget. My blood is red with clay-rich loam. I sleep in moss. I have always been in the forest. The wind sings through the leaves, a whisper, a susurration, a reminder, a hiss. It cajoles me, comforts me, sings me to sleep the way a loving mother would hum a lullaby to her recalcitrant child. The forest loves me. I love the forest. The skin beneath my nails is stained from clawing the mud, in hopes of resting against her bones. The canopy shields me from what I cannot bear. I am grateful for her cover, the tree crowns, worn proudly. My sweat smells of petrichor and rot. Mushrooms fruit from fallen trees, branches snag in my hair, thickets catch on my clothes. The creek and insects hum. I have always been in the forest. The forest remembers what I have forgotten. The forest holds what I wish to forget. My blood is red with clay-rich loam. I sleep in moss. I have always been in the forest. The wind sings through the leaves, a whisper, a susurration, a reminder, a hiss. It cajoles me, comforts me, sings me to sleep the way a loving mother would hum a lullaby to her recalcitrant child. The forest loves me. I love the forest. The skin beneath my nails is stained from clawing the mud, in hopes of resting against her bones. The canopy shields me from what I cannot bear. I am grateful for her cover, the tree crowns, worn proudly. My sweat smells of petrichor and rot. Mushrooms fruit from fallen trees, branches snag in my hair, thickets catch on my clothes. The creek and insects hum. I have always been in the forest. The forest remembers what I have forgotten. The forest holds what I wish to forget. My blood is red with clay-rich loam. I sleep in moss. I have always been in the forest. The wind sings through the leaves, a whisper, a susurration, a reminder, a hiss. It cajoles me, comforts me, sings me to sleep the way a loving mother would hum a lullaby to her recalcitrant child. The forest loves me. I love the forest. The skin beneath my nails is stained from clawing the mud, in hopes of resting against her bones. The canopy shields me from what I cannot bear. I am grateful for her cover, the tree crowns, worn proudly. My sweat smells of petrichor and rot. Mushrooms fruit from fallen trees, branches snag in my hair, thickets catch on my clothes. The creek and insects hum. I have always been in the forest. The forest remembers what I have forgotten. The forest holds what I wish to forget. My blood is red with clay-rich loam. I sleep in moss. I have always been in the forest. The wind sings through the leaves, a whisper, a susurration, a reminder, a hiss. It cajoles me, comforts me, sings me to sleep the way a loving mother would hum a lullaby to her recalcitrant child. The forest loves me. I love the forest. The skin beneath my nails is stained from clawing the mud, in hopes of resting against her bones. The canopy shields me from what I cannot bear. I am grateful for her cover, the tree crowns, worn proudly. My sweat smells of petrichor and rot. Mushrooms fruit from fallen trees, branches snag in my hair, thickets catch on my clothes. The creek and insects hum. I have always been in the forest. The forest remembers what I have forgotten. The forest holds what I wish to forget. My blood is red with clay-rich loam. I sleep in moss. I have always been in the forest. The wind sings through the leaves, a whisper, a susurration, a reminder, a hiss. It cajoles me, comforts me, sings me to sleep the way a loving mother would hum a lullaby to her recalcitrant child. The forest loves me. I love the forest. The skin beneath my nails is stained from clawing the mud, in hopes of resting against her bones. The canopy shields me from what I cannot bear. I am grateful for her cover, the tree crowns, worn proudly. My sweat smells of petrichor and rot. Mushrooms fruit from fallen trees, branches snag in my hair, thickets catch on my clothes. The creek and insects hum. I have always been in the forest. The forest remembers what I have forgotten. The forest holds what I wish to forget. My blood is red with clay-rich loam. I sleep in moss. I have always been in the forest. The wind sings through the leaves, a whisper, a susurration, a reminder, a hiss. It cajoles me, comforts me, sings me to sleep the way a loving mother would hum a lullaby to her recalcitrant child. The forest loves me. I love the forest. The skin beneath my nails is stained from clawing the mud, in hopes of resting against her bones. The canopy shields me from what I cannot bear. I am grateful for her cover, the tree crowns, worn proudly. My sweat smells of petrichor and rot. Mushrooms fruit from fallen trees, branches snag in my hair, thickets catch on my clothes. The creek and insects hum. I have always been in the forest. The forest remembers what I have forgotten. The forest holds what I wish to forget. My blood is red with clay-rich loam. I sleep in moss. I have always been in the forest. The wind sings through the leaves, a whisper, a susurration, a reminder, a hiss. It cajoles me, comforts me, sings me to sleep the way a loving mother would hum a lullaby to her recalcitrant child. The forest loves me. I love the forest. The skin beneath my nails is stained from clawing the mud, in hopes of resting against her bones. The canopy shields me from what I cannot bear. I am grateful for her cover, the tree crowns, worn proudly. My sweat smells of petrichor and rot. Mushrooms fruit from fallen trees, branches snag in my hair, thickets catch on my clothes. The creek and insects hum. I have always been in the forest. The forest remembers what I have forgotten. The forest holds what I wish to forget. My blood is red with clay-rich loam. I sleep in moss. I have always been in the forest. The wind sings through the leaves, a whisper, a susurration, a reminder, a hiss. It cajoles me, comforts me, sings me to sleep the way a loving mother would hum a lullaby to her recalcitrant child. The forest loves me. I love the forest. The skin beneath my nails is stained from clawing the mud, in hopes of resting against her bones. The canopy shields me from what I cannot bear. I am grateful for her cover, the tree crowns, worn proudly. My sweat smells of petrichor and rot. Mushrooms fruit from fallen trees, branches snag in my hair, thickets catch on my clothes. The creek and insects hum. I have always been in the forest. The forest remembers what I have forgotten. The forest holds what I wish to forget. My blood is red with clay-rich loam. I sleep in moss. I have always been in the forest. The wind sings through the leaves, a whisper, a susurration, a reminder, a hiss. It cajoles me, comforts me, sings me to sleep the way a loving mother would hum a lullaby to her recalcitrant child. The forest loves me. I love the forest. The skin beneath my nails is stained from clawing the mud, in hopes of resting against her bones. The canopy shields me from what I cannot bear. I am grateful for her cover, the tree crowns, worn proudly. My sweat smells of petrichor and rot. Mushrooms fruit from fallen trees, branches snag in my hair, thickets catch on my clothes. The creek and insects hum. I have always been in the forest. The forest remembers what I have forgotten. The forest holds what I wish to forget. My blood is red with clay-rich loam. I sleep in moss. I have always been in the forest. The wind sings through the leaves, a whisper, a susurration, a reminder, a hiss. It cajoles me, comforts me, sings me to sleep the way a loving mother would hum a lullaby to her recalcitrant child. The forest loves me. I love the forest. The skin beneath my nails is stained from clawing the mud, in hopes of resting against her bones. The canopy shields me from what I cannot bear. I am grateful for her cover, the tree crowns, worn proudly. My sweat smells of petrichor and rot. Mushrooms fruit from fallen trees, branches snag in my hair, thickets catch on my clothes. The creek and insects hum. I have always been in the forest. The forest remembers what I have forgotten. The forest holds what I wish to forget. My blood is red with clay-rich loam. I sleep in moss. I have always been in the forest. The wind sings through the leaves, a whisper, a susurration, a reminder, a hiss. It cajoles me, comforts me, sings me to sleep the way a loving mother would hum a lullaby to her recalcitrant child. The forest loves me. I love the forest. The skin beneath my nails is stained from clawing the mud, in hopes of resting against her bones. The canopy shields me from what I cannot bear. I am grateful for her cover, the tree crowns, worn proudly. My sweat smells of petrichor and rot. Mushrooms fruit from fallen trees, branches snag in my hair, thickets catch on my clothes. The creek and insects hum. I have always been in the forest. The forest remembers what I have forgotten. The forest holds what I wish to forget. My blood is red with clay-rich loam. I sleep in moss. I have always been in the forest. The wind sings through the leaves, a whisper, a susurration, a reminder, a hiss. It cajoles me, comforts me, sings me to sleep the way a loving mother would hum a lullaby to her recalcitrant child. The forest loves me. I love the forest. The skin beneath my nails is stained from clawing the mud, in hopes of resting against her bones. The canopy shields me from what I cannot bear. I am grateful for her cover, the tree crowns, worn proudly. My sweat smells of petrichor and rot. Mushrooms fruit from fallen trees, branches snag in my hair, thickets catch on my clothes. The creek and insects hum. I have always been in the forest. The forest remembers what I have forgotten. The forest holds what I wish to forget. My blood is red with clay-rich loam. I sleep in moss. I have always been in the forest. The wind sings through the leaves, a whisper, a susurration, a reminder, a hiss. It cajoles me, comforts me, sings me to sleep the way a loving mother would hum a lullaby to her recalcitrant child. The forest loves me. I love the forest. The skin beneath my nails is stained from clawing the mud, in hopes of resting against her bones. The canopy shields me from what I cannot bear. I am grateful for her cover, the tree crowns, worn proudly. My sweat smells of petrichor and rot. Mushrooms fruit from fallen trees, branches snag in my hair, thickets catch on my clothes. The creek and insects hum. I have always been in the forest. The forest remembers what I have forgotten. The forest holds what I wish to forget. My blood is red with clay-rich loam. I sleep in moss. I have always been in the forest. The wind sings through the leaves, a whisper, a susurration, a reminder, a hiss. It cajoles me, comforts me, sings me to sleep the way a loving mother would hum a lullaby to her recalcitrant child. The forest loves me. I love the forest. The skin beneath my nails is stained from clawing the mud, in hopes of resting against her bones. The canopy shields me from what I cannot bear. I am grateful for her cover, the tree crowns, worn proudly. My sweat smells of petrichor and rot. Mushrooms fruit from fallen trees, branches snag in my hair, thickets catch on my clothes. The creek and insects hum. I have always been in the forest. The forest remembers what I have forgotten. The forest holds what I wish to forget. My blood is red with clay-rich loam. I sleep in moss. I have always been in the forest. The wind sings through the leaves, a whisper, a susurration, a reminder, a hiss. It cajoles me, comforts me, sings me to sleep the way a loving mother would hum a lullaby to her recalcitrant child. The forest loves me. I love the forest. The skin beneath my nails is stained from clawing the mud, in hopes of resting against her bones. The canopy shields me from what I cannot bear. I am grateful for her cover, the tree crowns, worn proudly. My sweat smells of petrichor and rot. Mushrooms fruit from fallen trees, branches snag in my hair, thickets catch on my clothes. The creek and insects hum. I have always been in the forest. The forest remembers what I have forgotten. The forest holds what I wish to forget. My blood is red with clay-rich loam. I sleep in moss. I have always been in the forest. The wind sings through the leaves, a whisper, a susurration, a reminder, a hiss. It cajoles me, comforts me, sings me to sleep the way a loving mother would hum a lullaby to her recalcitrant child. The forest loves me. I love the forest. The skin beneath my nails is stained from clawing the mud, in hopes of resting against her bones. The canopy shields me from what I cannot bear. I am grateful for her cover, the tree crowns, worn proudly. My sweat smells of petrichor and rot. Mushrooms fruit from fallen trees, branches snag in my hair, thickets catch on my clothes. The creek and insects hum. I have always been in the forest. The forest remembers what I have forgotten. The forest holds what I wish to forget. My blood is red with clay-rich loam. I sleep in moss. I have always been in the forest. The wind sings through the leaves, a whisper, a susurration, a reminder, a hiss. It cajoles me, comforts me, sings me to sleep the way a loving mother would hum a lullaby to her recalcitrant child. The forest loves me. I love the forest. The skin beneath my nails is stained from clawing the mud, in hopes of resting against her bones. The canopy shields me from what I cannot bear. I am grateful for her cover, the tree crowns, worn proudly. My sweat smells of petrichor and rot. Mushrooms fruit from fallen trees, branches snag in my hair, thickets catch on my clothes. The creek and insects hum. I have always been in the forest. The forest remembers what I have forgotten. The forest holds what I wish to forget. My blood is red with clay-rich loam. I sleep in moss. I have always been in the forest. The wind sings through the leaves, a whisper, a susurration, a reminder, a hiss. It cajoles me, comforts me, sings me to sleep the way a loving mother would hum a lullaby to her recalcitrant child. The forest loves me. I love the forest. The skin beneath my nails is stained from clawing the mud, in hopes of resting against her bones. The canopy shields me from what I cannot bear. I am grateful for her cover, the tree crowns, worn proudly. My sweat smells of petrichor and rot. Mushrooms fruit from fallen trees, branches snag in my hair, thickets catch on my clothes. The creek and insects hum. I have always been in the forest. The forest remembers what I have forgotten. The forest holds what I wish to forget. My blood is red with clay-rich loam. I sleep in moss. I have always been in the forest. The wind sings through the leaves, a whisper, a susurration, a reminder, a hiss. It cajoles me, comforts me, sings me to sleep the way a loving mother would hum a lullaby to her recalcitrant child. The forest loves me. I love the forest. The skin beneath my nails is stained from clawing the mud, in hopes of resting against her bones. The canopy shields me from what I cannot bear. I am grateful for her cover, the tree crowns, worn proudly. My sweat smells of petrichor and rot. Mushrooms fruit from fallen trees, branches snag in my hair, thickets catch on my clothes. The creek and insects hum. I have always been in the forest. The forest remembers what I have forgotten. The forest holds what I wish to forget. My blood is red with clay-rich loam. I sleep in moss. I have always been in the forest. The wind sings through the leaves, a whisper, a susurration, a reminder, a hiss. It cajoles me, comforts me, sings me to sleep the way a loving mother would hum a lullaby to her recalcitrant child. The forest loves me. I love the forest. The skin beneath my nails is stained from clawing the mud, in hopes of resting against her bones. The canopy shields me from what I cannot bear. I am grateful for her cover, the tree crowns, worn proudly. My sweat smells of petrichor and rot. Mushrooms fruit from fallen trees, branches snag in my hair, thickets catch on my clothes. The creek and insects hum. I have always been in the forest. The forest remembers what I have forgotten. The forest holds what I wish to forget. My blood is red with clay-rich loam. I sleep in moss. I have always been in the forest. The wind sings through the leaves, a whisper, a susurration, a reminder, a hiss. It cajoles me, comforts me, sings me to sleep the way a loving mother would hum a lullaby to her recalcitrant child. The forest loves me. I love the forest. The skin beneath my nails is stained from clawing the mud, in hopes of resting against her bones. The canopy shields me from what I cannot bear. I am grateful for her cover, the tree crowns, worn proudly. My sweat smells of petrichor and rot. Mushrooms fruit from fallen trees, branches snag in my hair, thickets catch on my clothes. The creek and insects hum. I have always been in the forest. The forest remembers what I have forgotten. The forest holds what I wish to forget. My blood is red with clay-rich loam. I sleep in moss. I have always been in the forest. The wind sings through the leaves, a whisper, a susurration, a reminder, a hiss. It cajoles me, comforts me, sings me to sleep the way a loving mother would hum a lullaby to her recalcitrant child. The forest loves me. I love the forest. The skin beneath my nails is stained from clawing the mud, in hopes of resting against her bones. The canopy shields me from what I cannot bear. I am grateful for her cover, the tree crowns, worn proudly. My sweat smells of petrichor and rot. Mushrooms fruit from fallen trees, branches snag in my hair, thickets catch on my clothes. The creek and insects hum. I have always been in the forest. The forest remembers what I have forgotten. The forest holds what I wish to forget. My blood is red with clay-rich loam. I sleep in moss. I have always been in the forest. The wind sings through the leaves, a whisper, a susurration, a reminder, a hiss. It cajoles me, comforts me, sings me to sleep the way a loving mother would hum a lullaby to her recalcitrant child. The forest loves me. I love the forest. The skin beneath my nails is stained from clawing the mud, in hopes of resting against her bones. The canopy shields me from what I cannot bear. I am grateful for her cover, the tree crowns, worn proudly. My sweat smells of petrichor and rot. Mushrooms fruit from fallen trees, branches snag in my hair, thickets catch on my clothes. The creek and insects hum. I have always been in the forest. The forest remembers what I have forgotten. The forest holds what I wish to forget. My blood is red with clay-rich loam. I sleep in moss. I have always been in the forest. The wind sings through the leaves, a whisper, a susurration, a reminder, a hiss. It cajoles me, comforts me, sings me to sleep the way a loving mother would hum a lullaby to her recalcitrant child. The forest loves me. I love the forest. The skin beneath my nails is stained from clawing the mud, in hopes of resting against her bones. The canopy shields me from what I cannot bear. I am grateful for her cover, the tree crowns, worn proudly. My sweat smells of petrichor and rot. Mushrooms fruit from fallen trees, branches snag in my hair, thickets catch on my clothes. The creek and insects hum. I have always been in the forest. The forest remembers what I have forgotten. The forest holds what I wish to forget. My blood is red with clay-rich loam. I sleep in moss. I have always been in the forest. The wind sings through the leaves, a whisper, a susurration, a reminder, a hiss. It cajoles me, comforts me, sings me to sleep the way a loving mother would hum a lullaby to her recalcitrant child. The forest loves me. I love the forest. The skin beneath my nails is stained from clawing the mud, in hopes of resting against her bones. The canopy shields me from what I cannot bear. I am grateful for her cover, the tree crowns, worn proudly. My sweat smells of petrichor and rot. Mushrooms fruit from fallen trees, branches snag in my hair, thickets catch on my clothes. The creek and insects hum. I have always been in the forest. The forest remembers what I have forgotten. The forest holds what I wish to forget. My blood is red with clay-rich loam. I sleep in moss. I have always been in the forest. The wind sings through the leaves, a whisper, a susurration, a reminder, a hiss. It cajoles me, comforts me, sings me to sleep the way a loving mother would hum a lullaby to her recalcitrant child. The forest loves me. I love the forest. The skin beneath my nails is stained from clawing the mud, in hopes of resting against her bones. The canopy shields me from what I cannot bear. I am grateful for her cover, the tree crowns, worn proudly. My sweat smells of petrichor and rot. Mushrooms fruit from fallen trees, branches snag in my hair, thickets catch on my clothes. The creek and insects hum. I have always been in the forest. The forest remembers what I have forgotten. The forest holds what I wish to forget. My blood is red with clay-rich loam. I sleep in moss. I have always been in the forest. The wind sings through the leaves, a whisper, a susurration, a reminder, a hiss. It cajoles me, comforts me, sings me to sleep the way a loving mother would hum a lullaby to her recalcitrant child. The forest loves me. I love the forest. The skin beneath my nails is stained from clawing the mud, in hopes of resting against her bones. The canopy shields me from what I cannot bear. I am grateful for her cover, the tree crowns, worn proudly. My sweat smells of petrichor and rot. Mushrooms fruit from fallen trees, branches snag in my hair, thickets catch on my clothes. The creek and insects hum. I have always been in the forest. The forest remembers what I have forgotten. The forest holds what I wish to forget. My blood is red with clay-rich loam. I sleep in moss. I have always been in the forest. The wind sings through the leaves, a whisper, a susurration, a reminder, a hiss. It cajoles me, comforts me, sings me to sleep the way a loving mother would hum a lullaby to her recalcitrant child. The forest loves me. I love the forest. The skin beneath my nails is stained from clawing the mud, in hopes of resting against her bones. The canopy shields me from what I cannot bear. I am grateful for her cover, the tree crowns, worn proudly. My sweat smells of petrichor and rot. Mushrooms fruit from fallen trees, branches snag in my hair, thickets catch on my clothes. The creek and insects hum. I have always been in the forest. The forest remembers what I have forgotten. The forest holds what I wish to forget. My blood is red with clay-rich loam. I sleep in moss. I have always been in the forest. The wind sings through the leaves, a whisper, a susurration, a reminder, a hiss. It cajoles me, comforts me, sings me to sleep the way a loving mother would hum a lullaby to her recalcitrant child. The forest loves me. I love the forest. The skin beneath my nails is stained from clawing the mud, in hopes of resting against her bones. The canopy shields me from what I cannot bear. I am grateful for her cover, the tree crowns, worn proudly. My sweat smells of petrichor and rot. Mushrooms fruit from fallen trees, branches snag in my hair, thickets catch on my clothes. The creek and insects hum. I have always been in the forest. The forest remembers what I have forgotten. The forest holds what I wish to forget. My blood is red with clay-rich loam. I sleep in moss. I have always been in the forest. The wind sings through the leaves, a whisper, a susurration, a reminder, a hiss. It cajoles me, comforts me, sings me to sleep the way a loving mother would hum a lullaby to her recalcitrant child. The forest loves me. I love the forest. The skin beneath my nails is stained from clawing the mud, in hopes of resting against her bones. The canopy shields me from what I cannot bear. I am grateful for her cover, the tree crowns, worn proudly. My sweat smells of petrichor and rot. Mushrooms fruit from fallen trees, branches snag in my hair, thickets catch on my clothes. The creek and insects hum. I have always been in the forest. The forest remembers what I have forgotten. The forest holds what I wish to forget. My blood is red with clay-rich loam. I sleep in moss. I have always been in the forest. The wind sings through the leaves, a whisper, a susurration, a reminder, a hiss. It cajoles me, comforts me, sings me to sleep the way a loving mother would hum a lullaby to her recalcitrant child. The forest loves me. I love the forest. The skin beneath my nails is stained from clawing the mud, in hopes of resting against her bones. The canopy shields me from what I cannot bear. I am grateful for her cover, the tree crowns, worn proudly. My sweat smells of petrichor and rot. Mushrooms fruit from fallen trees, branches snag in my hair, thickets catch on my clothes. The creek and insects hum. I have always been in the forest. The forest remembers what I have forgotten. The forest holds what I wish to forget. My blood is red with clay-rich loam. I sleep in moss. I have always been in the forest. The wind sings through the leaves, a whisper, a susurration, a reminder, a hiss. It cajoles me, comforts me, sings me to sleep the way a loving mother would hum a lullaby to her recalcitrant child. The forest loves me. I love the forest. The skin beneath my nails is stained from clawing the mud, in hopes of resting against her bones. The canopy shields me from what I cannot bear. I am grateful for her cover, the tree crowns, worn proudly. My sweat smells of petrichor and rot. Mushrooms fruit from fallen trees, branches snag in my hair, thickets catch on my clothes. The creek and insects hum. I have always been in the forest. The forest remembers what I have forgotten. The forest holds what I wish to forget. My blood is red with clay-rich loam. I sleep in moss. I have always been in the forest. The wind sings through the leaves, a whisper, a susurration, a reminder, a hiss. It cajoles me, comforts me, sings me to sleep the way a loving mother would hum a lullaby to her recalcitrant child. The forest loves me. I love the forest. The skin beneath my nails is stained from clawing the mud, in hopes of resting against her bones. The canopy shields me from what I cannot bear. I am grateful for her cover, the tree crowns, worn proudly. My sweat smells of petrichor and rot. Mushrooms fruit from fallen trees, branches snag in my hair, thickets catch on my clothes. The creek and insects hum. I have always been in the forest. The forest remembers what I have forgotten. The forest holds what I wish to forget. My blood is red with clay-rich loam. I sleep in moss. I have always been in the forest. The wind sings through the leaves, a whisper, a susurration, a reminder, a hiss. It cajoles me, comforts me, sings me to sleep the way a loving mother would hum a lullaby to her recalcitrant child. The forest loves me. I love the forest. The skin beneath my nails is stained from clawing the mud, in hopes of resting against her bones. The canopy shields me from what I cannot bear. I am grateful for her cover, the tree crowns, worn proudly. My sweat smells of petrichor and rot. Mushrooms fruit from fallen trees, branches snag in my hair, thickets catch on my clothes. The creek and insects hum. I have always been in the forest. The forest remembers what I have forgotten. The forest holds what I wish to forget. My blood is red with clay-rich loam. I sleep in moss. I have always been in the forest. The wind sings through the leaves, a whisper, a susurration, a reminder, a hiss. It cajoles me, comforts me, sings me to sleep the way a loving mother would hum a lullaby to her recalcitrant child. The forest loves me. I love the forest. The skin beneath my nails is stained from clawing the mud, in hopes of resting against her bones. The canopy shields me from what I cannot bear. I am grateful for her cover, the tree crowns, worn proudly. My sweat smells of petrichor and rot. Mushrooms fruit from fallen trees, branches snag in my hair, thickets catch on my clothes. The creek and insects hum. I have always been in the forest. The forest remembers what I have forgotten. The forest holds what I wish to forget. My blood is red with clay-rich loam. I sleep in moss. I have always been in the forest. The wind sings through the leaves, a whisper, a susurration, a reminder, a hiss. It cajoles me, comforts me, sings me to sleep the way a loving mother would hum a lullaby to her recalcitrant child. The forest loves me. I love the forest. The skin beneath my nails is stained from clawing the mud, in hopes of resting against her bones. The canopy shields me from what I cannot bear. I am grateful for her cover, the tree crowns, worn proudly. My sweat smells of petrichor and rot. Mushrooms fruit from fallen trees, branches snag in my hair, thickets catch on my clothes. The creek and insects hum. I have always been in the forest. The forest remembers what I have forgotten. The forest holds what I wish to forget. My blood is red with clay-rich loam. I sleep in moss. I have always been in the forest. The wind sings through the leaves, a whisper, a susurration, a reminder, a hiss. It cajoles me, comforts me, sings me to sleep the way a loving mother would hum a lullaby to her recalcitrant child. The forest loves me. I love the forest. The skin beneath my nails is stained from clawing the mud, in hopes of resting against her bones. The canopy shields me from what I cannot bear. I am grateful for her cover, the tree crowns, worn proudly. My sweat smells of petrichor and rot. Mushrooms fruit from fallen trees, branches snag in my hair, thickets catch on my clothes. The creek and insects hum. I have always been in the forest. The forest remembers what I have forgotten. The forest holds what I wish to forget. My blood is red with clay-rich loam. I sleep in moss. I have always been in the forest. The wind sings through the leaves, a whisper, a susurration, a reminder, a hiss. It cajoles me, comforts me, sings me to sleep the way a loving mother would hum a lullaby to her recalcitrant child. The forest loves me. I love the forest. The skin beneath my nails is stained from clawing the mud, in hopes of resting against her bones. The canopy shields me from what I cannot bear. I am grateful for her cover, the tree crowns, worn proudly. My sweat smells of petrichor and rot. Mushrooms fruit from fallen trees, branches snag in my hair, thickets catch on my clothes. The creek and insects hum. I have always been in the forest. The forest remembers what I have forgotten. The forest holds what I wish to forget. My blood is red with clay-rich loam. I sleep in moss. I have always been in the forest. The wind sings through the leaves, a whisper, a susurration, a reminder, a hiss. It cajoles me, comforts me, sings me to sleep the way a loving mother would hum a lullaby to her recalcitrant child. The forest loves me. I love the forest. The skin beneath my nails is stained from clawing the mud, in hopes of resting against her bones. The canopy shields me from what I cannot bear. I am grateful for her cover, the tree crowns, worn proudly. My sweat smells of petrichor and rot. Mushrooms fruit from fallen trees, branches snag in my hair, thickets catch on my clothes. The creek and insects hum. I have always been in the forest. The forest remembers what I have forgotten. The forest holds what I wish to forget. My blood is red with clay-rich loam. I sleep in moss. I have always been in the forest. The wind sings through the leaves, a whisper, a susurration, a reminder, a hiss. It cajoles me, comforts me, sings me to sleep the way a loving mother would hum a lullaby to her recalcitrant child. The forest loves me. I love the forest. The skin beneath my nails is stained from clawing the mud, in hopes of resting against her bones. The canopy shields me from what I cannot bear. I am grateful for her cover, the tree crowns, worn proudly. My sweat smells of petrichor and rot. Mushrooms fruit from fallen trees, branches snag in my hair, thickets catch on my clothes. The creek and insects hum. I have always been in the forest. The forest remembers what I have forgotten. The forest holds what I wish to forget. My blood is red with clay-rich loam. I sleep in moss. I have always been in the forest. The wind sings through the leaves, a whisper, a susurration, a reminder, a hiss. It cajoles me, comforts me, sings me to sleep the way a loving mother would hum a lullaby to her recalcitrant child. The forest loves me. I love the forest. The skin beneath my nails is stained from clawing the mud, in hopes of resting against her bones. The canopy shields me from what I cannot bear. I am grateful for her cover, the tree crowns, worn proudly. My sweat smells of petrichor and rot. Mushrooms fruit from fallen trees, branches snag in my hair, thickets catch on my clothes. The creek and insects hum. I have always been in the forest. The forest remembers what I have forgotten. The forest holds what I wish to forget. My blood is red with clay-rich loam. I sleep in moss. I have always been in the forest. The wind sings through the leaves, a whisper, a susurration, a reminder, a hiss. It cajoles me, comforts me, sings me to sleep the way a loving mother would hum a lullaby to her recalcitrant child. The forest loves me. I love the forest. The skin beneath my nails is stained from clawing the mud, in hopes of resting against her bones. The canopy shields me from what I cannot bear. I am grateful for her cover, the tree crowns, worn proudly. My sweat smells of petrichor and rot. Mushrooms fruit from fallen trees, branches snag in my hair, thickets catch on my clothes. The creek and insects hum. I have always been in the forest. The forest remembers what I have forgotten. The forest holds what I wish to forget. My blood is red with clay-rich loam. I sleep in moss. I have always been in the forest. The wind sings through the leaves, a whisper, a susurration, a reminder, a hiss. It cajoles me, comforts me, sings me to sleep the way a loving mother would hum a lullaby to her recalcitrant child. The forest loves me. I love the forest. The skin beneath my nails is stained from clawing the mud, in hopes of resting against her bones. The canopy shields me from what I cannot bear. I am grateful for her cover, the tree crowns, worn proudly. My sweat smells of petrichor and rot. Mushrooms fruit from fallen trees, branches snag in my hair, thickets catch on my clothes. The creek and insects hum. I have always been in the forest. The forest remembers what I have forgotten. The forest holds what I wish to forget. My blood is red with clay-rich loam. I sleep in moss. I have always been in the forest. The wind sings through the leaves, a whisper, a susurration, a reminder, a hiss. It cajoles me, comforts me, sings me to sleep the way a loving mother would hum a lullaby to her recalcitrant child. The forest loves me. I love the forest. The skin beneath my nails is stained from clawing the mud, in hopes of resting against her bones. The canopy shields me from what I cannot bear. I am grateful for her cover, the tree crowns, worn proudly. My sweat smells of petrichor and rot. Mushrooms fruit from fallen trees, branches snag in my hair, thickets catch on my clothes. The creek and insects hum. I have always been in the forest. The forest remembers what I have forgotten. The forest holds what I wish to forget. My blood is red with clay-rich loam. I sleep in moss. I have always been in the forest. The wind sings through the leaves, a whisper, a susurration, a reminder, a hiss. It cajoles me, comforts me, sings me to sleep the way a loving mother would hum a lullaby to her recalcitrant child. The forest loves me. I love the forest. The skin beneath my nails is stained from clawing the mud, in hopes of resting against her bones. The canopy shields me from what I cannot bear. I am grateful for her cover, the tree crowns, worn proudly. My sweat smells of petrichor and rot. Mushrooms fruit from fallen trees, branches snag in my hair, thickets catch on my clothes. The creek and insects hum. I have always been in the forest. The forest remembers what I have forgotten. The forest holds what I wish to forget. My blood is red with clay-rich loam. I sleep in moss. I have always been in the forest. The wind sings through the leaves, a whisper, a susurration, a reminder, a hiss. It cajoles me, comforts me, sings me to sleep the way a loving mother would hum a lullaby to her recalcitrant child. The forest loves me. I love the forest. The skin beneath my nails is stained from clawing the mud, in hopes of resting against her bones. The canopy shields me from what I cannot bear. I am grateful for her cover, the tree crowns, worn proudly. My sweat smells of petrichor and rot. Mushrooms fruit from fallen trees, branches snag in my hair, thickets catch on my clothes. The creek and insects hum. I have always been in the forest. The forest remembers what I have forgotten. The forest holds what I wish to forget. My blood is red with clay-rich loam. I sleep in moss. I have always been in the forest. The wind sings through the leaves, a whisper, a susurration, a reminder, a hiss. It cajoles me, comforts me, sings me to sleep the way a loving mother would hum a lullaby to her recalcitrant child. The forest loves me. I love the forest. The skin beneath my nails is stained from clawing the mud, in hopes of resting against her bones. The canopy shields me from what I cannot bear. I am grateful for her cover, the tree crowns, worn proudly. My sweat smells of petrichor and rot. Mushrooms fruit from fallen trees, branches snag in my hair, thickets catch on my clothes. The creek and insects hum. I have always been in the forest. The forest remembers what I have forgotten. The forest holds what I wish to forget. My blood is red with clay-rich loam. I sleep in moss. I have always been in the forest. The wind sings through the leaves, a whisper, a susurration, a reminder, a hiss. It cajoles me, comforts me, sings me to sleep the way a loving mother would hum a lullaby to her recalcitrant child. The forest loves me. I love the forest. The skin beneath my nails is stained from clawing the mud, in hopes of resting against her bones. The canopy shields me from what I cannot bear. I am grateful for her cover, the tree crowns, worn proudly. My sweat smells of petrichor and rot. Mushrooms fruit from fallen trees, branches snag in my hair, thickets catch on my clothes. The creek and insects hum. I have always been in the forest. The forest remembers what I have forgotten. The forest holds what I wish to forget. My blood is red with clay-rich loam. I sleep in moss. I have always been in the forest. The wind sings through the leaves, a whisper, a susurration, a reminder, a hiss. It cajoles me, comforts me, sings me to sleep the way a loving mother would hum a lullaby to her recalcitrant child. The forest loves me. I love the forest. The skin beneath my nails is stained from clawing the mud, in hopes of resting against her bones. The canopy shields me from what I cannot bear. I am grateful for her cover, the tree crowns, worn proudly. My sweat smells of petrichor and rot. Mushrooms fruit from fallen trees, branches snag in my hair, thickets catch on my clothes. The creek and insects hum.