They don’t have claws or scales.
They don’t hide in caves.
They inhabit the silent spaces. The spaces between branches, the hollows of old trees, the endless white that swallows sound.
The world is full of invisible monsters.
These are the ones I see when I walk in the woods.
The silence is an illusion.
It’s filled with stories I can’t hear, only feel.
A twisted branch is not just wood. It’s a frozen gesture, a plea or a warning.
A shadow isn’t just an absence of light. It’s a fissure in the day.
A lone tree standing sentinel in the mist isn’t just a plant. It’s a witness.
The monsters are not out there, lurking behind a trunk.
They are the weight of the quiet, the shape of a memory, the echo of a thought that won’t settle.
Sometimes, a forest is just a forest. Sometimes, it is much more.
Or something completely different.
Look closely. What do you see?
