I ponder those thoughts, where that time and place went as I lay my aged body back against the moss covered ground. Breathing in the fresh earthen scent, I close my eyes. Propping my head on crooked elbow.

I speak aloud, knowing better of it, but I am alone so what care do I have, “It’s just not fair.” Then I pout. If for no other reason than because I simply can.

I am a grown woman after all. I came into the wood to be alone with my thoughts, and these are my feelings. I think, therefore I pout.

This brings a slight smile to my features. Then I am reminded that it takes fewer muscles to smile than to frown, which may be the reason adults are prone to wrinkles when children are not. Which, in turn, brings me back to my original dilemma.

I sigh and roll to my stomach. My fingers prod the moss gently. Somewhere in the tragic struggle between adolescence and adulthood we lose the fantastical and magical innocence of childhood.

Out of the blue, a walnut beans me on back of the head.