I knew i would be late if i didn't hurry, but I had to sketch the forrest this morning. I had lived here my whole life, fifteen years, and never had i stumbled upon a morning so pure as this. I would be sixteen soon, and when that happened, i would be judged as a man. If people knew that I sketched? Huge step in the opposite direction. But i coudn't stop. It was easy, my hand seemed to move on it's own, and it never missed a single detail.
"Easy as breathing". I mumbled under my breath. Now I was late for sure. I tucked the skatch pad under my pillow. As i headed toward the door, I grabbed my satchel and belt that rested in my desk drawer, ans slipped on my shoes that very much resembled moccasins. I found them pointless. The leather was so thin, you could easily ware through them in a couple weeks. Plus they took forever to make, so what was the use? I would much rather go barefoot. Then i swiftly left the tiny house. I walked along a trail that had been carved from years of use. A well trodden path. Out of the courner of my eye, I could see all the other houses, each identical to mine.
I felt the earth through my moccasins. Every tree root, every pebble, everything. The smell of corn tortillas and maple filled my nose ad i continued a long the path. The leaves on the trees played and danced together as the wind moved through them. I inhaled deeply taking it all in at once, then I smiled truely happy. This lifestyle wasn't modern I knew, but somehow, still satisfying.
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