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A boy walks in the woods. It’s May, springtime. Flowers in full bloom, flies, bees. Birdsong. He keeps to the shadows; the dark green cast by the full, plump tree leaves. The year is coming to an end – exams are almost upon him. Everyone speaks of what they’re going to do over the summer and no one wants to speak of what comes after. He wants to believe that nothing will ever change, that the truths he holds now will remain so, but he also knows enough of adulthood to know that truth is known only to children and zealots. Where the sun breaks through the canopy to reach the ground it is blinding bright. He shrinks more into the deep green comfort; it almost feels like dusk, where he is one more inhabitant of the woods. He grows up, and never leaves.