The Forest

We're in the darkest, deepest part of the forest. No one else is around us. Even the birds have gone silent in fear. The canopy is thick, blocking the sun. The brush is trouble to get through at times. It's hard to tell east from west. You look at me with that look: 'are you sure this is the way?' And I'm not sure. And you know it. There's no point in lying. We're lost. The darkest hour. Hope fades like the sun beneath heavy clouds. I can't tell you it's the way. I can only tell that with the crowd was not the way. That was certain death. Now we must trust our instincts. The forest is dark and deep. But it gives up its secrets eventually. It does. It wants to reward the bold. Into the heart of the forest we go. Into its bosom. The darkest hour will soon yield to the light. kevin lenihan