Some nights I lay silently on the grass and listen to the trees argue.

It is my one freedom in life, but freedom always has a costly price.

It’s only on the darkess nights, when the wind makes the old house creak. I slip out of my bed and place one foot silently in front of the other. I skip the third step becuase it always squeaks under my weight.

I stick to the shadows and hold my breath until I’m free. I turn the knob on the door to freedom, one miniscle distance at a time. Bracing it against my shoulder, I nudge it upward to avoid it scraping against the floor.

And then I run. Barefoot down the path I fly. In silence the world passes by. My lungs scream against the pace I force my legs to keep. Still I push even harder. Rocks cut my feet, but still don’t dare to break the silence. And then I can’t go any farther. I collapse in a small clearing of pines.

Finally I can breath. Huge gulps of air that my body craves. I lay on my back and look up to the stars. I can feel my face smile. A real one. This time it’s becasue I want to.

I lay silently on the grass and listen to the trees argue. They creak suddenly and sway towards and away from each other, waiting to strike.

I never thought anything of their arguing specfically. The trees could have talked or whispered, but they always argued. Ususally with their words, but sometimes with their fists. It was a fact of life. How was I to know that other people’s trees sang?