An old hammock
Strung from the bark of a branch to the root of a neighboring tree
Its rough fabric pressing into the bare of your back
Engulfing your small body in its open arms
The long strands of overgrown grass and weeds below
Tickle your dangling feet
The hammock sways ever so slightly
Resisting the wind
Wind, that is all you can hear
Unless you are able to open your ears wide enough to hear the ant
Scurrying along a tree
Or a slug slithering along the sidewalk
Leaving a fresh trail of slime behind him
But all you need to hear is the wind
And the grass as it whispers secrets to your feet
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