Softened whistles, the breeze whimsically tosses the leaves.
Flowing around the forest spreading the chills.
The dark pigments diluted by shades of white moonlight.
A sense of nerves and an aura of tranquility collide with each other.
The quiet sparks the peace yet the suspense of continuing past the fog ignites fear.
Temptation to wonder further past the dark pigments.
Beyond the familiar chills and grass.
Water may lurk in the distance masked by my own blinding.
The thought of its existence is gracious.
Though if I venture to the depths and it ceases to exist I will lose the peace.
Will the suspense pound enough for me to leave this section of the forest?