100 words (more or less), writing

Neglected Path

The grass is thick and long here, whispering against my footsteps as I follow the neglected path. There has been too much rain, and water has made the earth silty soft. Sticky mud cakes my shoes and may never come off.

I don’t mind. 

The wondering is enough to urge me on—skirting the edges of the flood, threading into the trees and around the dark, expanding pools. White moths flutter past, the flame crown of a Pileated Woodpecker darts from trunk to trunk, and the decaying bones of a frog wait patiently for the wild to take them home.