I stretched beneath the Milky Way and basked beneath their lush glow. The midnight dew slithered between my toes and it grasped the tail end of my t-shirt. The moon, mysterious and subtle in her ways, cast a look at the meadow. Her gaze was enough to make me truly believe in the perfection of the moment. Every which way there was no trace of human finger print upon the meadow, and there wasn’t a building for miles. This made it seem priceless, foreign, and maybe even how it was all suppose to be. The night gave me a moment to relax and cleansed my lukewarm soul. I savored it; I drank the night like I had been waterless. Months had passed by before I had been able to meander into my meadow, as a mother would wipe the tears from my cheek; it grasped me in its smooth palm. In the depth of the woods I heard the lonely tune of an owl. Soft and sweet, his lonesome cry kissed the night air. The tragic melody naturally fit into the landscape. Peeper’s asked their ever so impending questions that dragged on for the hours of darkness. Their notes blended to create a masterpiece that embraced my ears. Soldiers ready to fight to the death, the tree’s lined the bald, steadily providing a home for the creatures of the forest. My meadow was a day’s hike and nearly ten miles into the tree line. It was lucky to be isolated and protected from the ball and chain of mankind. My lips were sealed, and arrows filled my quiver. I was ready to protect my Eden. That night nature shared her deepest secrets with me and gave me the moment to marvel at the simplicity of what she asked. She needed a spy, and a friend on the other side. She barely whispered the words but they rang deep through the mountain bald, the music of the songbird, and the dust in the dry creek bed. The forest need not to be penned in the fence, to be what it truly is it has to grow.